


High Heat

by Jenny33Wren



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale in Heat, I'm not sure yet, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No one's an omega, Road Trips, Sex Toys, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles is a good friend, Werewolf Sex, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolves in Heat, a tiny bit of plot, but it's not scott, don't ask me who the alpha is, surprise heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny33Wren/pseuds/Jenny33Wren
Summary: The heat started somewhere north of Fort St. James, British Columbia. Of course, they didn’t know that was what it was for the first few days, because Stiles was just slightly twitchier than normal, and Derek was only a little grumpier.





	1. Chapter 1

The heat started somewhere north of Fort St. James, British Columbia. Of course, they didn’t know that was what it was for the first few days, because Stiles was just slightly twitchier than normal, and Derek was only a little grumpier. And really, the twitch and the grump might just have been the six solid days of rain they’d been driving through on the hunt for a coven of witches that had murdered a small pack just north of Hale territory. All that had been left was two cubs and a teenaged human girl who had carried the babies over pack lines just far enough to set off the wards and alert Derek.

But by the seventh day, with the trail going cold and the weather going with it, Derek finally lost his cool as Stiles changed the radio station for the twelfth time in as many minutes.

“What is wrong with you?”

Stiles drummed his fingers on the dash. “Nothing. Just don’t like that song.”

“There is one radio station out here, Stiles. One.” Derek pointed his index finger in the air. “Nothing is going to change that until we get out of the woods.”

Stiles folded his fingers in his lap and stared out at the trees. “I’m bored.”

Derek groaned beside him. “You think I’m not?”

“Any word from Lydia?”

Derek threw the phone in his lap. “What do you think?”

“Hey!” Stiles fumbled the phone, and it dropped between his feet and under the seat. He cursed and bent forward, feeling something pop in his spine while cool air blew over the crescent of exposed skin between his flannel and jeans as he folded himself in half.

“Did you drop it?” Derek sounded impatient.

“You threw it at me.” He scrounged around for the smooth surface of the phone but found nothing. Without sitting up, he gripped the lever to release the seat, and yelped as it slid back on its track with a bang.

“Jesus!” Derek’s hand was in his hair, yanking him back up.

“Ow!” Stiles swatted at him. “What the fuck!”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get the phone.”

“Well stop.”

“What if someone calls?” His scalp hurt where Derek had grabbed him.

“We haven’t had reception in two days. Who’s going to call?”

Stiles crossed his arms and went back to staring out the window. “What’s with you today?”

“What’s with _you_?” Derek glared at him, green eyes hard. He’d stopped shaving not long after they had crossed into Canada, and his dark beard was slowly swallowing his face, creeping over his jaw and cheeks.

Stiles growled, but didn’t say anything else. He was used to Derek’s moods. The two of them had been stuck in this Camaro for almost a month, weaving their way through the Pacific Northwest, circling around Vancouver Island before the trail went north again. They got close a few times, the scent of magic still heavy in the air like ozone, as they pulled into roadside towns full of residents with suspicious eyes, but each time, the witches stayed ahead of them.

“Can we stay in a motel tonight?” Stiles said, after another fifteen minutes of uncomfortable silence. He hated asking, but they’d been sleeping in the cars for days. The weather meant it was too wet to camp, but after more than a week of Stiles crammed into the Camaro’s tiny back seat at night while Derek slept in the front, the air inside the car was humid and thick with the musk of two wolves living in close quarters. Stiles needed to breathe, but he didn’t want to beg for it.

Derek exhaled, grip tight on the wheel, but he said, “Sure.” Rain spattered down on the windshield. “Sorry. About grabbing you. I’m just—”

“Yeah.” Stiles yawned so wide his jaw crackled. “Yeah, I know.”

They pulled into a motel outside Mackenzie a couple hours after the sun went down. Derek surprised Stiles by asking for two rooms. Normally, they shared, in part to save cash, and in part because, despite his permanently grouchy exterior, Derek was still a wolf and wolves got lonely when they were too far from pack. So asking for two rooms was notable.

“You okay?” Stiles asked as they unloaded stuff from the car—and made sure the weapons were well hidden. He’d spotted a laundromat down the highway, and he’d be headed there as soon as they checked in with Lydia.

A year after being bitten and he still wasn’t used to his sensitive werewolf nose. He kept a bottle of unscented laundry detergent in his go-bag, after the first time he and Scott had needed to make a quick exit, chasing after a wyvern that had kidnapped Scott’s mom. It had taken three days to find her, and they’d all been coated in dragon blood by the time it was over. They were far enough from home, and Stiles’s heightened senses were still new enough, that there had been no way they could drive back with the smell of wyvern guts covering everything. Except Stiles hadn’t known that the box of generic laundry detergent available from the laundromat vending machine would be just as bad—and Scott had been too caught up making sure his mom was okay to warn him—and so Stiles had practically been one giant hive by the time they finally got back to the pack house.

Derek sighed tiredly and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m fine. Just a lot of hours on the road and no payoff.”

“Well if you’d let me drive—”

Derek snorted. “Yeah that’s not happening.”

“You’d be less of a sour wolf if you spent less time behind the wheel.”

“I think I’m going to skip dinner,” Derek said, like the issue about sharing driving duties was already closed.

“Oh.” Stiles frowned. Derek rarely missed a meal. “Want me to bring you something?” The motel advertised a ‘dining lounge’, which was usually code for either overdone prime rib or strippers. Sometimes it meant both.

“No. I just need some sleep.”

They called Lydia from the motel phone, since their cell phone—finally retrieved from under the passenger seat—still had no bars. She had no new information for them. Scott and Allison were somewhere in North Dakota, trying to find the coven’s home circle, and having no more luck than Stiles and Derek.

“Give me your shirt,” Stiles said, once they’d hung up.

Derek glared at him. “What?”

“I’m doing laundry and I want everything to be as clean as possible. So give me your shirt.” He waved his hand. “And your pants.”

“You want my pants?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, baby, give it to me. Seriously man, you stink. Come on. We haven’t had clean clothes in two weeks. Boxers too. There’s one more clean pair in the bag.”

Derek huffed, but he peeled out of his clothes. Stiles had stopped freaking out about naked werewolves ages ago, even before he was bitten, and especially since. You couldn’t be self conscious about seeing so many flaccid dicks when everyone got naked at least once a month for the moon.

Once his clothes were off though, Derek shivered, which was unusual. Derek never shivered, because werewolves didn’t get cold.

“You sure you’re okay?” Stiles said.

“I’m fine.” He was already rummaging in the duffle, like nothing was wrong, but goosebumps raised along his spine. Stiles hesitated for a second longer, but when Derek glared over his shoulder, the annoyance in his eyes was perfectly normal at least. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’ll see you later.”

Two loads of laundry and a prime rib dinner later—the lounge apparently did have strippers too, but not on Sunday nights unfortunately—Stiles knocked on Derek’s door, but got no answer. No light through the room’s thin curtain either, so maybe he had gone to sleep early.

Stiles let himself into his room and spread out on the bed. His clean clothes were in a pile next to him, and he pulled himself to his knees, pulling out socks and folding them together. Everything smelled better. Fresher. Tomorrow would be better too, without the edge of werewolf sweat to set things off.

***

The dream was an old one. Stiles had it every few months or so, but at least the initial weirdness the morning after had passed.

He and Derek were in the car, parked on a shoulder on an unlit road.

“I need to tell you something,” Derek said.

“What is it?” Poor naive dream Stiles, walking into the same trap every time.

Because then time jumped and they were naked. Kissing. Stiles had the dream often enough that he now had time be objective about it—about the things the dream missed. There was kissing, but Derek never touched him. And then they were spread out against each other, even though there couldn’t possibly be enough room inside the car. Stiles’s cock ached, even though he couldn’t really feel Derek’s body touching his.

“I need you,” Dream Derek said.

“Whatever you need.” Dream Stiles was nothing if not accommodating.

Usually, this was the point where Stiles got fucked. He wasn’t even sure if it was Derek doing the fucking. He only knew the feeling of being invaded, expanded, as arousal surged through his body. And then he’d wake up, horny and unsatisfied, and he’d be weird around Derek for twenty-four hours before he remembered that werewolves might be able to hear a fly buzzing against a window two rooms over, they still weren’t mindreaders and would never know the weird things Stiles subconscious came up with in the middle of the night.

He wasn’t even attracted to Derek. Not really. Not anymore. He’d maybe had a tiny crush on him back when Stiles was still in high school, but that was years ago. He and Derek were brothers in arms. Nothing more.

So Stiles was surprised when, in the dream this time, he didn’t lose track of Derek. Instead of vanishing and becoming the invisible lover behind him, Derek was standing, his back to Stiles. His legs were spread, arms raised over his head. Dream Stiles had the sudden knowledge that if he ran a finger over Derek’s crack, it would come back wet and glistening.

“But you’re a beta,” he said breathlessly.

Derek didn’t turn, but suddenly he was closer, like Stiles had moved. “Please,” he gasped, voice broken. “I need you.”

You never smelled anything in dreams, but if Stiles could smell Derek right now, he knew he would be perfect. Sweet and ripe. Vulnerable and wanting. Everything Derek wasn’t in real life.

Stiles’s dick didn’t care that this wasn’t real. It knew what to do. What this version of Derek needed.

“Stiles.” Derek rocked toward him and maybe Stiles was inside him now and maybe he wasn’t, but the tight hold around his cock was impossible to ignore. The friction and the slide just the way Stiles liked them.

He groaned.

“Please.” Derek’s voice was behind him. In front of him. Stiles was inside Derek, or someone was inside Stiles. The burn. The ache. The perfect scent of the two of them together.

Stiles hadn’t come so hard in a long time. He woke as his dream self shouted, while very real jizz smeared the inside of his shorts like he was sixteen again. At least he was alone, and wasn’t that a happy accident? He’d have to congratulate Derek on his excellent sense of timing about requesting two rooms. Not that they hadn’t seen each other with a hard on from time to time. You don’t spend so many nights in motels in the middle of nowhere and in cars on the side of the road, and not occasionally reveal more about your personal life and proclivities than you would in a normal situation. And werewolf noses being what they are, Stiles could usually smell the lust before he’d even opened his eyes, and no doubt Derek could too. But werewolves were very good about the illusion of privacy, and usually he and Derek pretended to look the other way while the aroused party quietly excused themselves to go jerk off in the shower or the forest, whichever happened to be closer by.

Waking up still panting but alone was a weird luxury Stiles wasn’t used to. He shucked his boxers, regretting that this had all happened after his trip to the laundry, cleaned himself up, and slid naked back under the sheets. The cotton was rough against his skin, but then, what did he expect, sleeping in a place that probably only had a handful of guests every month? Not exactly enough to justify high thread count Egyptian cotton.

He shifted, trying to get comfortable, and heard the echo of skin on sheets from somewhere else close by. He lay still, and it came again, a soft hiss like someone rolling over.

Was Derek awake too? Wouldn’t that be a weird coincidence?

Shit, had Stiles actually shouted when he’d come? He thought that had been part of the dream, but maybe more than the orgasm had woken him and he’d managed to trip Derek’s wolfy hearing too. That could only be uncomfortable in the morning. It was one thing to look the other way when a friend got an awkward boner. Coming so hard his dick was still tingling five minutes later after having dreamed about the guy he shared almost all his personal space with was a whole other level of oops.

Still, when Stiles woke as the motel curtains began to glow with early sun, he was hard again, although he couldn’t quite remember the dream this time. But you can be damn sure he took advantage of having his own shower to tease every inch of himself, from his nipples to the tip of his dick, and down to his balls and the rim of his ass. He was careful to hold his shout in as he spunked all over the tile wall, but he wasn’t a monk. Who knew when he’d have the opportunity to masturbate in relative solitude and with a full tank of hot water again?

He knocked on Derek’s door before eight o’clock. The rain had finally stopped overnight. Usually Derek was the one to drag him back to the car and out on the road. But Stiles was feeling especially energized this morning, so he bounced on his toes as he banged on the door again.

“Come on Der—daylight’s burning and witches are waiting.”

Silence followed. Overhead, a bird chirped, and a pickup truck with an exhaust pipe no doubt inversely proportional in length to the size of its owner’s cock rumbled by. The door stayed closed.

“Derek? You awake?” Stiles thought he’d heard the shower turn on in Derek’s room earlier, after he’d finished his own, but in a motel like this, where the walls were basically made of cardboard, it could be hard to tell which room exactly sounds came from.

A prickle of nervousness curled through him and he glanced over his shoulder. Derek hadn’t threatened to leave him on the side of the road in at least a week, but Stiles had to double check anyway, to make sure the Camaro was still parked in the lot. It was.

So where the hell was Derek?

Stiles banged on the door again. “Come on Der-bear. My belly’s growling. We need breakfast. I hear there’s a bakery in town that makes legendary sticky buns. You know how I feel about sticky buns.”

More birds. More silence. No Derek.

Stiles put his ear to the door. Derek was in there. His heartbeat was up, faster than normal. Could be that he was rushing because he’d slept in. Or else something was wrong.

Stiled tapped one more time. “Derek? Everything okay in there?”

The door flew open so suddenly that only his super awesome werewolf reflexes saved Stiles from face planting onto the carpet inside. He still needed to grip Derek’s biceps to keep himself upright, and when he did, he hissed. Derek’s skin under his hands was icy cold.

“You okay?” he said again.

Derek gave him a tight smile—which was to say, his usual smile. “I’m fine. Let’s get going.” He stepped around Stiles, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, and walked to the Camaro without a backward glance.

Situation Normal, then. Stiles followed quietly. He was awake and ready for a new day, and Derek was already in a mood. Just as it should be.

It was the last moment anything was normal between them for a long time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's not pretend I know where this is going. Except sex. There will definitely be sex. But not yet.

If they ever got home, Derek was never getting in the Camaro again. The car had seemed cool during his ‘moody lone wolf’ phase. Now though, with a pack, and especially with one packmate in particular, everything about it was uncomfortable. One of his legs was falling asleep in the bucket seat, his hair kept brushing against the roof, and every time he switched gears, his hand bumped against Stiles’s arm.

Stiles. 

Stiles, who took up too much space. Who never stopped moving or talking or fidegting or clearing his throat or sniffing or—

Holy fuck he smelled good.

And that knowledge, the distracting scent of him when he stretched his arms overhead, or when he yawned, or flung half his body through the center console to grab a snack from the backseat, was even more irritating that the barrage of questions and hypotheses and witch puns that never seemed to stop coming out of his mouth.

“You’ve got quite the resting witch face today.” Stiles’s grin was so smug Derek nearly pulled over to punch it.

As they motored through Farrell Creek, Stiles said, “Why do witches love Lamborghinis?”

Derek sighed. “Why?”

“Because they’re really good at driving stick. Get it?” Stiles nudged him with his elbow. The contact made Derek startle, small sparks shooting up to his shoulder.

“How have we been driving for a month and you’re still coming up with these?” He pitched his voice low enough that hopefully Stiles couldn’t hear the way it shook as Derek struggled to calm his racing heart. 

What was wrong with him? He could have sworn he’d woken up with a headache, but not like any headache he’d ever had. Obviously werewolves didn’t get sick, not physically anyway. He’d never had a sinus infection or a migraine or any of the other things that typically caused a headache in humans. But he’d basically had chronic anxiety his whole life, and that particular condition had left him with all kinds of symptoms that varied from nausea to headaches to that one day, after they’d nearly been taken prisoner by a squad of angry wood pixies, when they’d had to pull over every hour so Derek could piss while Stiles had asked him if he was marking his territory so they could find their way home later.

But the thing he was feeling today wasn’t an anxiety headache. Those grabbed the back of his skull like a set of claws piercing into his skin and didn’t let go. Today’s headache was like a wave, rippling from the point between his eyes, over his scalp, and then down the back of his neck, leaving trails of fire and ice under his skin.

He needed to get out of this car.

They stopped for gas late in the afternoon. The hot and cold feeling had settled like a cap on his head and was slowly radiating down his ears and across his throat.

Stiles squirmed. “Are you—”

“What?” Derek snapped. The air in the car was full of Stiles’s mix of bubble gum and moss scent, and Derek struggled to breath. Every inhale coated his throat with it until he didn’t think he’d ever get it out.

“Did you want me to pump the gas?”

Derek sneered. “Don’t be stupid.”

They stared at each other. The mole below Stiles’s jaw bobbed as he swallowed. “Are you—”

“What, Stiles?”

His lower lip was dusted orange from a bag of Cheesies he’d demolished twenty minutes ago, and he sucked on it for way too long before he said, “You have to get out of the car to pump gas.”

Derek’s fangs popped out and the growl came from deep inside his chest. That sort of growl was usually reserved for invading alphas, or when another wolf got too close to a mate. 

Stiles’s eyes widened and went orange, just like the cheese dust on his fingers. “What the fuck?”

_What the fuck?_ Derek had to agree. What the fuck was wrong with him? He closed his own eyes, taking long breaths that only pushed the icy-hot feeling down, spreading it over his shoulders and the top of his chest.

He lurched out of the car and slammed the door so hard the whole thing rattled. Stiles yelped inside. But at least the pressure released inside Derek’s brain. He took in big gasps of fresh air, waiting for the warmth on his skin to fade. The rain had started again sometime after noon, and the humidity clung to him, making his clothes feel too tight on his body.

Too many hours in the car. That must be the problem. 

He focused on pumping gas.

The second he got back into the car, everything returned. The pressure spread from his collarbones to his nipples, and every rustle of Stiles’s clothes on the car seat, and the warm scent as he scratched at his hair and pulled his hoodie off over his head was like a warning.

“What are you doing?” Derek said.

“I’m getting comfy.” Stiles smiled at him as he mounded the hoodie behind his head. “If you’re going to be a super grouch, I’m taking a nap.” He pushed out his lower lip, full and pink and now thankfully cheese powder free, and Derek shivered.

He blinked, gluing his eyes to the road as they pulled out of the station. No cell reception up here, but the map said they could drive a couple more hours and still find a place to stop for the night. No way were they sleeping in the car. Whatever was going on, Derek would not be able to spend a whole night wrapped up in Stiles.

Fuck. Who was wrapped in what? What the hell was going on?

The windshield wipers swished rain away, and Derek felt every pass like a throb under his skin. Stiles started snoring within five minutes, leaving Derek to his thoughts. Except his thoughts were all muddled today. They were headed north, hunting for witches who had murdered families. He knew that. But his wolf was awake today. Louder than it normally was. It paced circles inside of him, like it did a day or two before the full moon, but the moon was a while away. The wolf wanted things, more than the usual  _ run, hunt, forest, pack, run _ that usually filled its thoughts. Those thoughts were there, but along with were others. Other instincts. 

_ Stiles. Mine. Ours. Stiles. Touch. Want. Stiles. Bite. _

Bite?

Derek wasn’t attracted to Stiles. Never had been. Okay, that last part was a lie. Maybe he had been, for like, a moment, back when Stiles had been a fast talking teenager with puppy dog eyes and lust that poured off him in waves whenever he got within fifty feet of Derek. The lust had been flattering, but Stiles had been a kid, and Derek enjoyed fucking with him too much to actually fuck him and ruin it when Stiles realized what a screwed up mess of daddy issues and fear of abandonment Derek actually was.

But that was a few years ago. They were friends now. Pack. And since they’d had to bite Stiles a little over a year ago to save him after hunters had attacked him while he, Scott and Derek were hunting a feral omega in San Diego, the longing looks and the lust had gone away. Even if teenage human Stiles had never had much sense of self-preservation, his new wolf did, and it knew Derek was a bad bet for a mate, even if its adult human ever reconsidered.

_ Mate. _

What. The. Fuck?

His wolf had clearly also spent too much time in the car and was on the verge of going stir crazy.

An hour later, they blew out a tire on a road that might have been paved at some point in the past but was now made almost entirely of crumbled asphalt and gravel.

“Motherfucker.” Derek snarled as he wrestled the Camaro over the shoulder.

“What happened?” Stiles came awake with a sleepy rub of his eyes.

“Think we lost a tire.” Derek’s heart was pounding in his chest, and not from adrenaline as the car shuddered to a halt.

“You okay?” Stiles ran his knuckles over Derek’s hair, just above his ear. Stiles was still adjusting to the tactile needs of wolves. After more than twenty years as a human, he still had a lot of old inhibitions to work through, and rarely touched Derek as much as a born wolf would have. Derek told himself it didn’t bother him.

Except the second Stiles touched him, Derek simultaneously wanted to break Stiles’s wrist and also grab hold his hand and suck on every single one of his perfect long fingers. 

Derek jerked back so fast he banged his knee on the steering wheel and his head on the window. “Ah! Fuck!”

“What is going on with you?” Stiles leaned forward, unbuckling his seatbelt, and his nearness made Derek’s head swim.

_ Yes. Stiles. Mine. Ours. Stiles. Mine. Take. Mine. _

“I, uh . . . I have to check the maps. Why don’t you get started on the tire?”

Stiles eyed him, but sighed and slipped out of the car without another word. They’d blown more than one tire on their road trips over the past few years. They generally took turns putting on the spare, because when they tried to work together, the task inevitably devolved into bickering, and then yelling, and then Stiles would throw a lug nut into the ditch and tell Derek to go fetch, and Derek would haul Stiles up by the collar of his T-shirt, press him against the car and—

And—

The pressure, the cool-warm buzz had stopped its migration just over his sternum sometime in the last half hour, and had been content to pulse there like some alien life form. It had still made Derek agitated, but he’d thought, with a little more time, he’d learn to get used to, at least until they found the witches or Lydia called off the search and they could turn around and go home.

But as the memory—or was it a fantasy?—of Derek manhandling Stiles until his warm firm body was trapped between the car and Derek, of the way his back would arch as he tried to create space, bending against the Camaro’s shiny black frame, unfolded in Derek’s brain, it was like the thing in his chest suddenly detonated. It pulsed—3, 2, 1—and then bloomed in a mushroom cloud that wrapped around his torso before taking complete control of his body. His limbs shook, his ears rang. Derek’s fangs punched through his gums and his face began to shift. Claws skated over the leather wrapping on the steering wheel.

And his dick—holy shit his dick.

One second, Derek was an average werewolf, minding his own business, and the next, he was hunched forward as his dick surged to life with the force of tsunami, going from soft and bored to throbbing and at full mast in the space from one heartbeat to the next.

“Oh god.” He rested his forehead against the steering wheel as fire seared through his veins and his teeth chattered, while his dick pressed so hard against the front of his jeans it brought tears to his eyes.

“Stiles,” he gasped. His lungs weren’t working properly and he could barely get the word out. Stiles. He needed Stiles. Something was wrong and they were miles from everything and Derek only had Stiles to—

_ Mine. Mine. Bite. Stiles. Stiles. _

The fantasy—and it was definitely a fantasy—progressed. Derek’s mouth was on Stiles’s skin, licking, sucking, tasting any part that he could reach. Stiles was warm under him. Hot, like a wolf. Like he had always been meant to be. Like he was made to be. Made for Derek.

_ Mine. _

Derek pressed against him, knowing Stiles was trapped, had nowhere to go, had no option but to submit as Derek—

He humped against him, growling. His wolf whined, or maybe that was Derek too, in the car, holding onto the steering wheel like a lifeline while his hips rocked against the image in his mind.

_ Mine. _

The night Stiles had almost died, the night Scott had bitten him, Derek had nearly howled. Nearly pulled Scott off him and threatened Scott with every kind of bodily harm if he ever touched Stiles like that again.

_ Mine. _

He hadn’t understood it at the time. But he did now. The sight of Scott’s teeth sinking into Stiles’s fragile skin, the scent of Stiles’s blood on the air, had felt so wrong. It shouldn’t have been Scott. Scott was the alpha, but it wasn’t his job to save Stiles. Wasn’t his place. It was Derek’s.

_ Mine! _

He pressed against imaginary Stiles, so Derek could trap his dick against the willing body, while he pictured the taste of Stiles, so much richer and rawer, if Derek just pierced the flesh, right there, at the curve of Stiles’s neck. It wouldn’t hurt him. He’d heal too fast for it to do any damage. But the act of it, the mark it would leave—

_ Mine! _

The wolf howled.

Derek groaned as his orgasm erupted, smearing over the inside of his underwear. His vision wavered, and he realized his hands were still on the steering wheel. Shit. He’d come without so much as touching himself. Just the thoughts, the memories and the fantasies. The smell, the sensation. The heat.

The heat.

The feeling that had plagued him all day was still there, quiet again just as suddenly as it had exploded over him, but it definitely wasn’t gone.

And if he was right, it would only get worse.

His wolf preened languidly as his fangs and claws receded. The sated fucker. It knew exactly what was going on.

The trunk closed with a heavy thunk. Derek’s eyes flew to the rearview mirror. Stiles’s heartbeat was up, but he was humming to himself as he wiped his hands on the front of his T-shirt and came around the passenger side.

He couldn’t be done already? How long had Derek—

His hands slide down to the wet spot in the front of his jeans.

He considered making a run for it. Just opening the door, bolting into the woods, and never coming back. 

But then Stiles was pulling open the door and sliding into the seat. He wore a set of earbuds that he pulled off, tossing it and the ancient iPod into the glove compartment.

“I was listening to a podcast about mold. Did you know—” His knows wrinkled. “What is that smell?”

Derek’s throat was thick as he swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words all piled up on top of each other in the back of his esophagus so that it all came out in a weak gurgling noise.

“Derek?” Stiles’s eyes dropped to Derek’s lap, and then flew back up and out, staring out on the road as his ears turned bright pink. “Oh my god. What the hell man? You couldn’t wait for a little more privacy?”

“I—” Derek worked slowly, picking his words like he was selecting puzzle pieces from a box. “I—I think I’m going into heat.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles tries the rational approach to solve an irrational situation.
> 
> Also CW: self-harm (ish?) Not explicit, and certainly not motivated by a real interest in harm, but werewolf claws get in the way sometimes when situations get irrational.

Stiles talked a lot. Had since he’d discovered he could make words with his mouth. His mom had called him a magpie. When he asked his dad what it meant when someone called someone else a magpie, his father had said it meant that person couldn’t shut up. He hadn’t understood what was wrong when four-year-old Stiles had burst into tears.

So yeah, Stiles talked a lot. It was a defense mechanism. A way of standing out from the crowd. A means of making sure Scott didn’t do something collosally stupid which they would both regret in the morning.

The only times in his life he’d ever been truly speechless were the first few weeks after his mom had died, the first time Lydia had kissed him, and now, when Derek—the person Stiles probably respected more than anyone else in the world (except for his dad, obviously. Oh, and Lydia.)—told him he was about to become a mindless sex zombie.

“Heat?” The world was strangled in his throat, caught there by the cloying smell of semen and arousal. Derek. His spunk. His need.

“Yeah.” Fine perspiration had soaked the hair at Derek’s temples.

Stiles swallowed, sucking down more of the flavor of sex and desire that filled the car. “Wow.”

They didn’t say anything else for over an hour. Derek put the car in gear and continued on the way they’d been going. Stiles sat with his hands in his lap, heart and brain racing.

Heat.

He’d heard about it, obviously. He’d done an entire Ph.D’s worth of research in those first years after Scott had been bitten, and then filled in even more blanks in his understanding of werewolf biology after they’d turned him too.

But he’d always kind of glossed over heat. It wasn’t like anyone had ever written a _What to Expect When Your Werewolf Hormones Melt Your Brain_. So much of what Stiles knew was from old lore, old stories that Derek told sometimes, or things he’d pieced together from really questionable sources online.

Here was what he knew about heat:

  1. Heat was not about wolf babies. Werewolves had babies the same way humans did. In fact, a pregnant female werewolf couldn’t shift until her baby was born. Derek had told him once that, whenever he or his siblings had grumbled about spending family time with the rest of their pack, their mother had only needed to remind them that she hadn’t been able to shift for _nine whole months_ while she’d carried them, and they’d fallen into line under the specter of maternal guilt.
  2. Heat was experienced by omegas. Omegas were typically outcasts. The weakest and smallest. They had no pack. Heat was a way of creating bonds quickly. An omega went into heat when in the presence of an alpha—but not any alpha. The omega’s alpha. The one that would give a lost werewolf a new home. Bring him back into the fold. Not every omega was a match with every pack. But if he found an alpha who brought on a heat, then a wolf knew he was home.



The problem with this last tidbit was of information was threefold:

  1. Derek wasn’t an omega.
  2. He already had a pack.
  3. Their pack didn’t have an alpha anymore, and even if they did, Stiles and Derek were a thousand miles from their pack's territory, so what the actual fuck?



They pulled into another three-dog (one-horse, whatever, Stiles had other problems than remembering his metaphors) town as the sun went down. Neither one of them had said anything in what felt like forever. Stiles stared out the window at the glowing neon Motel sign they had parked in front of.

“Did you know?” he said, a little surprised his voice still worked. “Yesterday? Is that why you us two rooms?”

Derek seemed to have to peel his hands off the steering wheel one finger at a time. “I don’t know. I knew I wasn’t feeling right. And you were being annoying so I thought—”

“Annoying? I was trying not freak out at your sex musk.”

“Sex musk?” Derek glared at him, and the expression was so normal, Stiles could almost cry.

“Well what am I supposed to call it? You stink. You make me want to bathe in rubbing alcohol.” And do other things that involved rubbing, but Stiles wasn’t going to mention that. If Derek clenched his jaw any harder, he looked like his teeth would crack. This was not the time for patented Stilinski sarcasm. Whatever the hell else was going on, Derek needed help.

Stiles checked the cellphone. Thank god. Two bars. First things first, they needed to call Lydia.

Derek growled softly, and Stiles glanced at him. His eyes had gone blue, and his claws were ground into his thighs, drawing blood through the denim.

Okay. First things actually first. They needed to get out of this car. Then they’d call Lydia.

“We’re getting one room.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s eyes rolled, not in annoyance, but in fear, like horse’s.

“No. We don’t know what’s going on. It can’t be heat. But whatever it is, you’re not leaving my sight until we figure it out.”

Derek growled and his hips shifted restlessly. His erection was visible in his jeans.

Stiles rolled his eyes— _in annoyance_. “Okay, fine. You’re not leaving my sight unless you’re going to the bathroom to jerk off. I don’t need to see that.”

He checked them in. The guy behind the desk gave him a look when Stiles requested a room with two beds, but probably because it would never occur to him to give them a room with one.

They let themselves in, and Derek made a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door closed so hard the mirror over the dresser rattled. Stiles stood there for a second, unsure if he was supposed to ask if Derek was okay, but the sound of the shower coming on broke him out of his indecision. The shower would help, but it wasn’t enough to drown out Derek’s heartbeat, which pounded through the wall.

Stiles pulled the phone out of his pocket, ignoring the way his hands shook. He waited impatiently as the call connected.

“Stiles?”

He’d been in love with Lydia Martin to varying degrees for the last ten years. But he didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to hear her voice as he was in that moment.

“Lyds, listen—”

“Scott and Allison found the witches.”

“What?” He’d been pacing, and nearly tripped over the corner of one of the beds. After Derek’s little announcement on the side of the road, Stiles had basically forgotten why they were even out here in the wilds of Canada to begin with. Witches? Who was worried about witches when Derek’s dick could explode at any given minute?

On cue, a low groan sounded through the bathroom wall. Stiles slumped to the floor. Motel room floors were basically a breeding ground for the kind of fungus you would never be able to extricate from your toenails—no, not even as a werewolf—but Stiles need the fortification of the uncomfortable bedframe against his spine to keep from losing his mind.

“The witches. Scott and Allison found them in northern Wisconson. They’re being transported to the grand coven for judgment. Apparently they’ve been rogue for a few years. The Carter pack wasn’t the first pack they attacked.”

The Carter pack? Along with the witches, Stiles had forgotten about the two frightened cubs and the teenage girl, dirty and covered in blood, who had stumbled into their territory.

“That’s good. That’s—”

“The grand coven is convening in Chicago. Scott will testify. Do you—”

“Derek’s in heat.”

She didn’t laugh at him. Anyone else would have asked if he was joking. But he and Lydia had been the only (mostly) humans in a werewolf pack for a long time, and they had learned to read each other in a way that no one else could.

So she didn’t laugh, but she did make him repeat himself.

“Derek Hale is in heat.”

“But he’s not—”

“An omega? A stray? Trust me, we know.”

“And he’s—”

The groan sounded from the shower again. Stiles hadn’t even realized the water was still running. He closed his eyes as his gums and fingertips itched. His wolf was fighting to the surface, whether out of interest or self-preservation, Stiles wasn’t sure.

“What do we do?” Asking the question was a relief. Stiles liked being the one people came to with tough problems. He liked being the guy with the answer. But when he couldn’t be that person, he liked that he had Lydia to fall back on.

The pause on the phone didn’t help his nerves at all.

“Lyds?”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long has he been in heat?”

“Um.” They hadn’t come to an agreement on whether their separate rooms the night before had been because Derek already knew. “Maybe a day?”

“Come home.”

He should have known he could trust Lydia to have the right answer. Home. The very idea of it made some of the tension leach out of his shoulders.

Still—”That’s a long drive.” Especially if they needed to stop every couple of hours so Deek could jerk off against a tree.

“You need to get here as fast as you can. If it really is heat, and he’s only a day in, you’ve got time to get back to Beacon Hills before—” The phone went silent.

“Before what? Lydia? Before what?”

“—Deacon. Scott’s not here, but I’ll call him. But start driving now.”

The water turned off in the shower. Stiles’s heart was going to rattle his bones to powder. The wolf whined in his human throat.

“Lydia?”

But the phone had gone dead again. Stiles stared at it, looking at the claws he hadn’t even known he’d sprouted as the tips gripped the case.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was hoarse behind him, and he scrambled to his feet, doing his best to keep his features calm as he turned toward his friend.

His ripped werewolf friend who was wrapped only in a towel and who had vicious red claw marks across his chest.

“Jesus, what the hell happened?” Stiles couldn’t help himself as he rushed across the room and spread his palms over the gouges in Derek’s skin. Of course, they were already fading, but they were deep enough it took some time.

“I—” Derek’s pecs rose and fell under Stiles’s palms. “I don’t know. One second I was jerking off and thinking about—And then it was like there was something under my skin, and I needed to get it out as fast as possible.”

“So you thought you’d dig it out?”

Derek shuddered, body hot under Stiles’s touch. Given everything, this closeness should have been too intimate, but Stiles was too freaked out to be worried about Derek getting the wrong idea.

“I don’t—I don’t remember doing it.” His eyes were unfocused and his voice high.

Right. Time for take-charge Stiles.

“Okay big guy. That’s fine. See? No harm done. They’re already mostly healed. Just put some clothes on and let’s get going.”

“Going?” Derek frowned. “Where?”

Since Derek didn’t seem interested in dressing himself, Stiles would have to do it for him. He rummaged around in their duffle until he found a clean pair of boxers and a T-shirt. He considered jeans, but if Derek was going to need—er—easy access while Stiles drove, then jeans were just going to slow him—and by extension, Stiles—down.

_Start driving now._

“We’re going home.” He pushed the clothes at Derek until he seemed to snap out of wherever he was and took them, pulling the shirt over his head as the lines on his chest faded to a rosy pink.

“I’ll drive.”

“Like hell,” Stiles snorted. “You’re going to need your hands free.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“Says the wolf who can’t go more than an hour without spunking in his shorts. Come on sour wolf. Let’s go.”

Stiles had been waiting his whole wolfish life to drive the Camaro. A headlong run from northern British Columbia back to California wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured it, but this was his chance to shine.

He just hoped Lydia was right they had enough time to get home before anything got worse.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you thought the "drive as fast as you can" plan was ever going to work...
> 
> Also CW for more blood. This whole adventure is more visceral than I expected.

Being a werewolf was about accepting a loss of control. Derek told bitten wolves they had to find control, but the truth was that in order to truly embrace the shift, you had to let go completely. Finding an anchor, learning not to maul innocent bystanders, sure, these were important life skills. But relaxing into the pain as your bones and muscles shifted and your body behaved in ways your brain told you could only result in an imminent—but not fast enough because holy fuck _that hurt!_ —death was the only way to live life as a wolf with your sanity intact.

Unfortunately for Derek, he had never been very good at giving up control. Whether it was not subconsciously dreading the shift, or letting the smart mouthed teenager with the buzz cut and the freckles like constellations drive his car, he had never been comfortable letting go.

Except, would you look at that? Derek was now curled up in the passenger seat of the Camaro, while the kid who had become a wolf and Derek’s closest friend drove down an old logging road so fast gravel clattered in the wheel wells, mouth closed for once while his expression stayed grim.

And speaking of loss of control, Derek shuddered as his erection roared back to life. He’d lost track of how long they’d been driving. Maybe a couple hours? He’d been hard for basically all of it. To the outside observer, It probably sounded like labor, except probably a lot more fun. But along with a hard on that never seemed to go away, despite the increasingly wet spot in the front of Derek’s shorts, what that fortunate observer didn’t know was what it felt like on the inside.

The arousal was endless. Derek was lightheaded as sweat dripped down his back and sides. His hips rocked restlessly, even in the brief moments after an orgasm when his cock softened for a few bare seconds. He couldn't stop it, and he couldn’t bring it to an ebb any faster, because regardless of his growing desperation, he wouldn’t let his hands stray inside the waistband of his boxers, no matter how much he wanted to, because Stiles was there.

Despite the way Derek’s thoughts raced and his heart tripped a flighty rhythm like it wasn’t sure how much longer it could keep beating, he couldn’t help himself get off, because he couldn’t embarrass himself like that in front of Stiles.

He moaned, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window. His dick was so sensitive the worn cotton of his underwear felt like sandpaper.

“Hey.” The hand on his shoulder was fiery, and he lurched away from it like he’d been burnt. His claws sprouted from his fingertips, scrabbling against the glass and tearing at the vinyl of the seal.

“Derek?” The hand didn’t return, but Stiles’s voice, full of soft concern, was the relief Derek needed to turn back around. “You okay? What do you need?”

He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry the words got stuck. His tongue rolled in his mouth, sticking to his gums like silly putty. When he couldn’t make a sentence happen, he whimpered.

Stiles pressed his lips together. His face was flushed, the hair at his temples and along his forehead glistening with perspiration. Derek focused on breathing slowly through his mouth. The last time he’d tried to breathe in through his nose, the smell, the scent of Stiles had been enough to drive him over the edge, hot spunk shooting out of his dick as his eyes had rolled back in his head.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

What did he need?

“Alpha.”

The word was a croak. Hs throat hurt to say it, even as his whole body shuddered at the thought. An alpha. Oh god. It would be so good. Someone to pin him down, press into him. The alpha would make Derek theirs. They’d make the flighty panic in his chest go away.

Stiles’s eyes flashed beta orange as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know big guy. Hang in there. Lydia’s trying to figure it out.”

They didn’t have an alpha.

It had been Scott, of course. The True Alpha. What a crock of shit that was. Whatever teenage Scott had been able to tap into when their lives had all been threatened, adult Scott had figured out how to throw it all away nearly as quickly. He’d never told them how. After Stiles had nearly died and they’d been forced to turn him, Scott had—well he’d lost it, a little. Shifted and snarled at them all once they’d got Stiles back to the pack house. Wouldn’t let anyone—not his mom, not Allison—near him. And then, one night, he’d disappeared into the woods and hadn’t come back for more than a month. When he finally had, his eyes were orange, and he’d refused to tell any of them how he’d done it.

Derek’s dick ached, then spasmed, pumping nothing. Could you come so much you ran out of semen? So much that you eventually became dehydrated and passed out?

Unconsciousness would be a blessing compared the humiliation of knowing Stiles now knew every intimate thing about him, from the way he smelled to the sounds he made as he had the best and most terrifying orgasm of his life over and over again.

“Alpha.”

_Alpha alpha alpha alpha._

The word chanted itself in his head. He needed it. The strength. The muscle. The sheer power to fuck what he was feeling out of him until he had nothing left but the knowledge of belonging.

The stale paste flavor in his mouth was replaced with something warm and wet and coppery tasting.

“Shit.” Stiles cursed beside him, and it was only as he felt the car swerve to the right that Derek realized his forehead was resting on the Camaro’s dash. Didn’t matter though. The liquid filling his mouth was beautiful.

The air on his skin as Stiles opened the driver’s side door was cool and Derek snarled, nearly choking on the inhale. The bones in his face shifted as the door on his side was hauled open and he growled again, prepared to defend himself from whatever was here to stop him.

“Derek. Derek, hey! Derek, look at me, man.” The hands on his face were firm, but he still fought them. No. No he wouldn’t look. The hands, the voice. He wasn’t thirsty for the first time in maybe forever and the hands were trying to stop him.

“Derek. You have to stop. You have to—” A finger slid over his chin, slick with something, but it didn’t matter, because a thumb swiped over his bottom lip and he chased it. Someone yelped as one of Derek’s fangs caught the tender pad, but he didn’t have time to think about it before he sucked the thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it. The moan in his throat vibrated through his whole body, while his cock pulsed and his hips rocked, looking for stimulation.

_Alpha._

In his mind, the thumb was a cock. The heavy thick cock of an alpha. It wouldn’t be enough, in his mouth, in his throat, not compared to how it would feel in his ass, filling him, marking him. He needed that. Needed to be opened up and made whole again. Yes. He could take it. Would do it. For his alpha.

The orgasm, built strictly on that fantasy and the single thumb between his lips, ripped out of him, and he heard Stiles’s panting grunts as his mind cleared. When Derek opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were his claws, digging just deep enough into the thin skin of Stiles’s wrist to leave single pinpricks of blood, which vanished the second Derek let go. Stiles yanked his arm back immediately, scraping his thumbnail over the roof of Derek’s mouth as he went.

They stared at each other, Derek still easing into to reality once more. Stiles took a swaying step back. He wiped his hand on his jeans, leaving a small smear of reddish-brown behind.

The scent of blood hadn’t faded as Stiles’s wrist healed. In fact, Derek’s senses were full of it. His nose. His mouth. He stared down at the front of his shirt where streaks like the ones on Stiles’s jeans were drying.

He scrambled for the passenger side visor, pulling it down and opening the small mirror. It took a second—the visor was angled too high and showed only his messy and tangled hair—but when he got it angled right, he wished he hadn’t. He looked like a victim in a horror movie. Blood coated his chin, already congealing into his beard, and had spread lower, down his throat before soaking into his shirt.

“What happened?” His voice was thin.

Stiles had squatted down on his haunches. His hand on Derek’s thigh was comforting, sparking no fire like it had before. “You—Your fangs. You bit yourself. You wouldn’t stop. The blood. I didn’t—”

When it came to allies, Stiles was as level headed as they came. Sarcastic. Fidgety. But he was deeply analytical. Very little frightened him. But his skin was pale now, his eyes wide. He hadn’t looked so much like his adolescent self—the one coming to terms with the fact that werewolves existed and the world was a very different place from what he’d been lead to believe—in a long time.

Derek cleared his throat. “I’m thirsty.”

Like he’d needed this simple task almost as much as Derek, Stiles popped back up to his feet like he was on springs. He was into the trunk and back again in split second. He carried a bottle of water, which Derek practically tore in half in his haste to get the cap off before he swallowed the whole thing in a gulp.

“You okay?” Stiles was back by his side.

Derek shook his head. “No.” The heat was building again. He could feel it, a livewire just under his skin, sizzling in his groin and making his wolf whine.

_Alpha._

Soft cotton, the kind that would hurt again soon enough, brushed his shoulder. “I brought you fresh clothes too. If you wanted to change.”

Derek stared down at his ruined t-shirt and shorts. He should peel them off and get rid of them. Never mind that someone might find them and assume some sort of perverted axe murder was prowling the side of the road in this abandoned end of the world. He couldn’t stay like this. Even though he’d just ruin the next set too. He needed a moment of dignity.

Stiles turned his back as Derek got out of the car to strip, but stayed close by. Derek was clear-headed enough that he’d be able to hear another car long before it got close enough to see his naked cum- and blood-smeared body as he shucked his clothes and threw them into the ditch.

When they were both back inside, Stiles sat for a long time, staring blankly out the windshield. Derek waited, while pressure built in his crotch and sweat started to form beneath his jaw and in his armpits, soaking into his fresh clothes all over again.

Stiles inhaled slowly, and when he turned to Derek, his eyes—his human eyes, warm whisky brown—were full of purpose.

“We’re not going to make it, are we? Not before you really hurt yourself.”

Derek had used another bottle of water to clean off his chin, neck and chest as best he could, but the smell of his own blood hadn’t left his nose yet. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, piecing together memories of torn skin, and the driving need to take Stiles’s thumb into his body like it would offer any kind of relief.

_Alpha._

Slowly, he shook his head. “No. We’re not going to make it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan to write this next one so fast.
> 
> Then again, I originally thought this was going to be a fast and dirty heat fic and now plot is happening so...

Okay. Plan B. Or were they onto C already? Stiles really should have read up more on heat. Endless orgasms didn’t really sound all that bad. But watching a man chew threw his lip made you rethink your assumptions. They drove through another town, and passed the tiniest of strip malls. The store at the end made Stiles swerve off the road.

“What are you doing?” Derek panted next to him.

“Getting reinforcements.”

Leaving Derek in the car was risky, but also basically the only option. And, strictly speaking, the credit card in Stiles’s wallet was supposed to be used for emergencies only, but he really wasn’t sure how this could be considered anything but an emergency.

He was back at the car with a purple plastic in under ten minutes. Derek was in the front seat, eyes closed, hips writhing, mouth agape. Stiles had to stop for a second to collect himself before he opened the door. He’d nearly come before, as Derek had sucked on his thumb, even while his brain had spiraled over the blood dribbling down Derek’s chin.

His new plan was barely mixed, let alone half-baked, but the way Derek was losing control scared him enough that he was going to have to work with the random ingredients he had.

Which included the bag in his hand.

“What’s that?” Derek said as Stiles opened the door on his side, throwing the bag toward him.

“Supplies.”

Derek grunted, and his hands shook, but he opened the bag and made a choked sound. “Seriously?”

“We’re going to have to drive for a few hours and we’ve got to keep you busy enough that you don’t hurt yourself again.”

Derek must have come recently, because he was clear headed enough to glare at Stiles while he reached into the bag and pulled out a bright pink tentacle-shaped dildo. “And this was your solution?”

Stiles winced. He’d been going for expediency when he’d run into the adult novelty store, literally grabbing anything that came to hand and throwing into his basket as he ran up and down the aisles. “I’m buying time, okay? There’s a ball gag in the bottom somewhere. I recommend you slip it on before you get all fangy again.”

Derek pawed through the bag, pulling out handcuffs, lube, and a perfect ass-shaped Fleshlight. “I’m not using these in front of you.”

“Then get in the back.”

“Excuse me?” Derek’s eyebrows rose like outraged caterpillars.

Stiles growled. His nerves—among other things—were on edge, and he did not have time to argue. “Climb into the goddamn backseat so you can get off in private. I promise not to look.”

Derek gaped, but then his hips rolled again, making the bag in his lap crinkle, and he glowered while he opened the door, pulled the seat down, and slid into the Camaro’s cramped back seat.

“If you ever tell anyone about this, I will—”

“Yeah, yeah. My throat, your teeth. I know. Trust me, I am not any happier about this than you are.” He put the car in gear and stomped on the gas.

He’d called Lydia while he’d been in the store. The connection had still been sketchy, but they’d managed to chat long enough for Stiles to get the information he needed.

The High Water Pack lived at the top of a mountain about two and a half hours south of the sex shop. Lydia had given him detailed directions. The weather was better today, for once, so Stiles wasn’t shy about pushing the car as fast as he could reasonably go on rural highways where guardrails seemed to be optional.

He did his best to ignore the grunts and moans that came from the backseat, along with the occasional rustle of plastic that said Derek had sucked up the tiny shred of pride he had left and taken advantage of Stiles’s purchases. The inside of the car stunk overwhelmingly of cum and sweat and Stiles was doing his best to ignore the ache in his groin. For a moment he’d been worried he was going into heat too, which probably meant he’d crash them into a tree and they’d both die, but the sensations never got worse than pulsing arousal, while Derek just kept groaning and coming over and over behind him.

The last twenty miles took more than an hour. The road twisted wildly and the ruts were so deep Stiles scraped the bottom of the Camaro more than a few times. Lucky for him Derek was too out of it to notice, because he’d probably make good on that throat ripping threat otherwise.

They knew Stiles and Derek were coming, of course. Stiles had felt the shiver as they’d crossed over the territory wards. As they wound around the last hairpin turn and made their way down a long drive, more than twenty wolves stood in front of a sprawling post and beam house. Eyes flashed orange, and more than a few had fangs and claws showing.

“Put your shoes on, we’re at Grandma’s,” Stiles said, gazing warily out through the windshield.

“What?” Derek’s voice was raw.

Stiles glanced over the seat as he brought the Camaro to a halt and turned the engine off. Derek looked absolutely wrecked, and no in good way. His shirt was pulled up and his shorts down. His dick was moving completely unselfconsciously in and out of his well-lubed hand, while he worked a nipple between two fingers. His stomach showed red slashes from claw marks, but they were healing and there was no blood, so Stiles called that a win.

“Stay here. I’m getting us some help.”

This had to work.

He kept his hands visible and his gaze averted as he got out of the car. They’d be able to hear his heartbeat and know he was a wolf. They’d smell him too, and this was definitely not the first impression he wanted to make, but he was officially out of options.

“Who are you?” a male voice asked as he approached the wolves who had gathered. 

“My name is Stiles Stilinski. I need to see your alpha.”

“How did you find us?”

Stiles gritted his teeth. Small talk later. Sexytimes now. Whatever they wanted to know, he’d tell them, but first he needed help for Derek.

“Please. I need—My friend—” He gestured back to the car. “We’re in trouble.”

“You brought trouble here?” A gun cocked, and Stiles’s heartbeat rose at the sound. A wolfsbane bullet would really make his day.

“Please.” He raised his chin, exposing his throat. “I don’t want any problems. But you were the closest pack and—”

“Ryker.” Another voice—damn werewolf customs that meant Stiles couldn’t make eye contact until he’d been officially welcomed—deep with authority, rumbled. “Let him speak.”

Stiles licked his lips and tried again. “We need help. My friend is in the car. He needs an alpha. He needs—” His stomach turned sour at the thought of what he was asking. “He’s in heat. Please. I don’t know what to do.”

A murmur rippled over the crowd. Wolves were nervous, as a rule. A strange beta squealing into their territory without an invitation, then stumbling out of his car smelling like sex and begging for help was not the best way to make new friends.

“What did you say your name was?”

His eyes were still on the treeline. “Stiles.”

A wolf came closer. The power that radiated off him could only be an alpha. “Stiles, we don’t get visitors very often at the High Water Pack.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t let you know we were coming, Alpha. But the situation is a bit urgent.”

A solid hand landed on his shoulder. “You are welcome here, Stiles.”

Tension leached out of his as he finally dropped his gaze. The wolf in front of him was maybe in his late forties, with weathered skin and long black hair streaked silver. His eyes flashed red for a second, to establish his place, before sliding back to a deep brown.

Stiles dropped his gaze one more time. “Thank you, Alpha.”

“You can call me Harlon. What seems to be the problem?”

“My friend is in heat. It’s—” His knees were wobbling. “It’s pretty bad.”

Harlon frowned. “Where’s his new alpha?”

Stiles shook his head. “We don’t have one.”

“Then it’s not heat.”

Derek’s heartbeat rose to an impossible rate before going fluttery for a split second, and then slowly decreasing again. Stiles recognized the pattern now that came with every orgasm. He sighed. “Tell him that.”

“It can’t be heat if an omega hasn’t found a new alpha.”

“He’s not an omega. We’re both betas.”

The pack whispered behind them, and Stiles risked a glance toward them over Harlon’s shoulder. Nearly twenty adults. They all had the same dark features as Harlon. They were watching Stiles nervously, which was only reasonable. If someone had shown up in Beacon Hills with Stiles’s wild story about betas in heat and not an alpha to be seen, their whole pack would have gone on alert.

“Ryker,” Harlon said. “Have a look.”

Stiles flushed, embarrassed on Derek’s behalf as the tall, thickly-muscled wolf who stood behind Harlon’s right shoulder pushed past them toward the car. Derek wouldn’t want to be seen like this. But what else could Stiles do? He was in over his head.

Ryker whistled low. “Looks like heat.”

Harlon nodded, nostrils flaring. “How long has it been?”

Stiles shook his head. “We don’t know. A couple days, maybe more.”

“Has he started hurting himself yet?”

Stiles nodded.

“More like a week then.”

With every one of Harlon’s words, Stiles relaxed. He’d made the right choice in coming here. Having an alpha— _ any alpha _ —would buy them some time, until Lydia and Deaton could figure out how they were going to get Derek home.

Harlon smiled kindly, as if he could sense Stiles’s nervousness. “Let’s get your friend inside. We have a medic who can check him out, help clean him up. You could take a shower too.” Harlon’s nose wrinkled. “You smell like you could use it.”

Stiles had taken a lot of showers in his life, but the one in the High Water Pack house might have been the best one ever. He let the hot water pour over his shoulders and down his back, rinsing off the fear and confusion. After a few minutes of hesitation, he palmed himself. It felt weird, because despite his best efforts to keep the images in his mind faceless, it inevitably came back to Derek. 

“Jesus.” Stiles pressed his forehead to the tile, running his wet palm over his dick while his mind played the highlight real from the last twenty-four hours. It was a lot. The flush on Derek’s cheeks. His muffled groans the night before through the motel bathroom wall. Had he touched himself like this? What had he pictured while he stroked his cock?

His desperate whines from the backseat of the Camaro, on those last twisting miles, were mixed with Stiles’s muffled grunts. He bit into the crook of his elbow—using blunt human teeth—to cover the noise, and when his balls tingled and the pressure formed in the small of his back, he let himself breathe in the remembered scent of Derek’s arousal. He’d been doing his best to block it out for days, but he’d let himself have it, just this once, as he came with a bone-deep shudder.

Everything would be better now.

A few questions to wolves he met in the hall took him down to a bedroom just off the stairs on the second floor. A thirty-something wolf with the same features as her packmates was leaning over Derek, checking his pulse. Derek lay in a wood-frame bed, covered in a thick quilt. His expression was slack and his chest rose and fell steadily with his breathing. 

“How is he?” Stiles asked. 

The medic smiled. “I sedated him. Seemed like he could use the rest.”

Stiles nodded glumly. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Are you really both betas?”

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a beta going into heat?”

She shook her head. “No. But we don’t come down off the mountain very often. Maybe the world is changing.”

Stiles hovered at the edge of the bed. “Will he be asleep for a while?”

“A few hours. Until the alpha can come see him.”

The alpha. Stiles was trying hard not to think about that in any specific detail.

The pack was eating dinner when he came back downstairs. They pulled up a seat for him and served fluffy mashed potatoes and roasted chicken with thick brown gravy.

“So where are you from?” someone asked. 

“California.”

“California?” Harlon said. “That’s a long way from here.”

“We were chasing some witches who attacked the neighboring pack.”

“After they attacked yours?”

“What?” Stiles’s breath stuttered. Even though he’d spoken to Lydia a few hours ago and knew everyone was safe, the very suggestion that something might have happened to his pack made his skin crawl. He may not have been a wolf for very long, but he already knew that pack was everything. Derek would always carry the scars from losing his family. Stiles didn’t think he’d recover if something happened to his pack.

“Well you’re on your own.” Harlon scowled. “Did the witches kill your pack first?”

“No. No our pack is fine.”

“Then your alpha would…” Harlon said slowly.

“We don’t have an alpha.”

There were a few polite coughs and the rattle of cutlery on plates, but everyone waited for Harlon to speak first.

“No alpha?”

Stiles shook his head. “Not since—Not anymore.”

“Then how—”

“Dunno. We sorta waited for chaos to take hold, but it never did, so we just kept going.” He nearly said that he preferred it that way, since most of the alphas he knew were either giant dickholes or had savior complexes a mile wide, but he kept that thought to himself, since he needed this particular alpha’s help. And so far, Harlon seemed neither a dickhole or a martyr, so Stiles was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“But you’re not omega? How is that possible?” Ryker said sourly. He had the customary stick up his ass that all pack seconds seemed to have. 

“Werewolf mojo, I don’t know.” Stiles grinned around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “We’ve always been pretty tightly knit. And we aren’t all wolves. We have humans and a banshee.”

The pack whispered. Stiles pretended not to hear. Not every pack was as open minded as his. 

“You’re from Beacon Hills, aren’t you?” Ryker said.

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of us then?’

Ryker glared, but Harlon gave him a silent signal and the second went back to his dinner. Into the silence, Harlon said, “And you brought your friend to us because—”

Stiles flushed as he glanced around the table. He’d been hoping to not have this conversation with an audience, but he was Harlon’s guest and he didn’t get to dictate the terms. 

“Derek needs an alpha. My pack doesn’t have one and he was getting worse. I thought…” He had to take a drink of water before he could say it. “He needs you. To help him get through the heat.”

Harlon’s face was sympathetic. “That’s what I thought.”

“So you’ll do it?” He could barely let himself picture what he was asking for. It wasn’t like Harlon and Derek would have a quick chat, or that Derek would be better after quick backrub. 

“Yes. We can’t let him suffer.”

Stiles let out a breath, as exhausted relief swept over him. “Thank you.”

“You can go in the morning.” Harlon’s eyes dropped back down to his plate.

Stiles straightened. “It’ll be that fast?”

Someone snorted, but Harlon’s face was still blank when he glanced up again. “What will be?”

“Derek—he’ll be better in the morning?” Alphas must seriously have some magic dick.

“No.” Harlon shook his head. “Heat like his takes a week to pass. But you don’t need to stick around for that. We’ll take care of him.”

“I don’t—” His relief recoiled itself back into something tight and fearful.

“Didn’t your old alpha teach you anything?” Ryker sneared.

Stiles couldn’t help himself as he shot Ryker a glare. “What does _that_ mean?”

“Stiles.” Harlon placed a gentle hand on Stiles’s arm. “Heat is about bonding. It's an omega in need of an alpha and a home.”

“But Derek’s not—” He wasn’t any of those things.

“I don’t know how it happened, but the ending is the same. If I go to him, if I help him through the heat, he’ll be one of mine when it’s over. He won’t be part of your pack anymore.”

Stiles froze and cold fear gripped the back of his neck. His eyes darted over the wolves gathered around the table. A pack. The family resemblance said they were probably all born wolves too. Not some cobbled together crew of bitten strays and non-wolves like they had in Beacon Hills. This was what Derek’s childhood must have been like, Stiles realized. The closeness that came from family and shared history. The precious safety that had been ripped from him, and the loss of which he’d never fully gotten over.

“Derek would have to stay here?” Stiles’s voice was wobbly.

Harlon pulled himself up straight. He was solid, strong, but there was a quiet determination in him that instantly made you want to trust him. “Well, yes. I’d be his alpha. Derek wouldn’t be able to leave the pack.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter update.
> 
> CW: a little more self harm. This should be the last of it though. You know what happens next ;) 
> 
> Also, I'm working on something else written in present tense and my brain is really struggling to make the switch tonight. Apologies :)

For a while, everything was dark and quiet, and Derek had normal dreams about running through the woods on a full moon and pretending to be annoyed when Stiles said something he thought was sarcastic and funny when it was actually pretty clever.

But the respite didn’t last, and as it faded, the need came back, even more intense than it was before. Derek needed to fuck. To mate. To claim and be claimed.

He moaned, still too groggy to find the release on his eyelids and look around him. The smells were unfamiliar, and he had a vague memory of Stiles driving over a bumpy road and promising they’d be there soon, but where, Derek didn’t know.

Stiles. He was close by. Derek could smell him.

And behind him. Oh thank god. Relief. So close. Finally. Finally. The thrumming alpha power, reaching for him.

“Alpha.”

“Derek?”

It was so close, he could taste it.

“Are you sure?” An unfamiliar voice said, deep and caring. “I know this is a difficult decision.”

“I know.” Stiles sounded so sad. Why was he sad? Derek whined. No reason to be sad. The alpha was here. He would make it all better, and then Derek and Stiles could go home.

A heavy hand touched his brow, and Derek arched up into it, feverish and trembling. More. He needed more. More hands. More touching. The only way to stop the ache in his body was more.

“I’m so sorry, big guy.”

 _Don’t be sad._ Derek couldn’t make his mouth work, but maybe if he thought them loudly enough, Stiles would hear anyway. _Don’t be sad. The alpha. My alpha. He’s here. He’ll make it okay._

Strong arms lifted him from the bed. Whatever drugs they’ve given him made it hard for Derek to get all his limbs working together, so he leaned on the body beneath his arm. It was a good body. Strong.

_Alpha. Alpha._

Everything was going to be okay.

They took him outside. He might not have been able to make his legs go, but he could still feel cool leaves and dirt under his feet. Yes. That made sense. Heat magic was old magic. The most primitive of pack bonds. It would make sense that whatever the alpha would need to do, it would happen outside.

Stiles sighed heavily. “Lydia is going to kill me.”

They leaned Derek down, sitting him up against something soft and firm. “Stiles?” His tongue felt too thick for his mouth.

Stiles strong hand gripped his. “I’m here buddy.”

But the only reply Derek could come up with was to drag Stiles’s hand down to his aching dick and press into it. Later, he might be embarrassed by that, but at that moment, he could only think about relief. About Stiles’s familiar scent and the knowledge that they were pack and nothing could be stronger than that.

Stiles snatched his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pinch, a stinging prick on Derek’s skin, and the ache, the base sexual need floated away for a minute. Derek relaxed, and didn’t fight when he felt something wrap around one wrist and then the other. On a haze of medicated peace, the words spoken around him became fuzzy and disjointed.

“—to be fast. The magic will—”

“I understand.”

“I can’t promise that he’ll—”

“My pack—losing him will—He needs a family.”

 _Stiles. Stiles. Don’t be sad. Don’t be sad. Alpha. Alpha is here. Alpha will_ —

One more hand on his forehead. “Take it easy, big guy.”

He dreamed about Stiles again. Naked, perfect Stiles. He was a man now. Had been for a few years, really. The smart-mouthed kid with a thing for blunt weapons was long gone. And it wasn't just the wolf that he was now that made Derek preen before him. The man would have been enough.

“Derek? Trust me. Okay?”

Derek did. Had for ages. Because Stiles never went off half cocked. And he’s definitely very full cocked now. God he was beautiful. And he would help Derek.

“Please.” Derek whined. “Please. It hurts.”

“I know.”

“Stiles.” His throat was raw, like he had been screaming.

“Hang in there. Everything will be okay.”

There was a warmth in Derek’s chest. Despite the endless arousal that cycled through him over and over, for the last little while, it had been muted by the calm presence right at the center of him.

_Alpha._

“I know buddy.”

Had Derek said that allowed? “Alpha.”

There was a gasp, almost like a sob. The warmth in Derek’s chest spread, filling him, opening him up. He stretched with it, even while something held him firmly anchored to the ground.

“Alpha.”

The sob came again.

“Alpha.” _Don’t be sad. Don’t be_ —

The warmth. The comfort. The peace that it had brought with it snapped, and something tore inside Derek.

He roared.

“Shit. Jesus.”

And roared. Opened up his mouth and let his fangs descend. His faces pinched and warped as it reformed with the arrival of his wolf. His very angry wolf.

“Alpha!” The word was only half formed behind overly large teeth.

The car bumped and bounced underneath him, jarring his overstimulated body.

“I know! I know!” Stiles’s voice said from somewhere up ahead of him.

Stiles. Stiles was there.

The Alpha was gone. He was _gone._

“No!” Derek roared again. The need returned, louder and more painful before. It burned inside him, consuming everything. It would kill him. He could taste metal in the back of his throat.

The Alpha was gone.

“Derek?” Stiles’s voice was worried, carrying the fear that Derek had only ever heard in their worst moments, when it looked like here would be no escaping this time.

“Why?” Derek moaned. He hurt. Oh God, he hurt. It was like the shift, but magnified. Every bone, every muscle was ripping itself apart and knitting itself back together over and over. The need for sex was gone. Too late. There was only pain, and Derek—who should have burned with his parents when the house went up in a blaze of flame and smoke—was finally, _finally_ going to die.

“I’m sorry.” It was Stiles crying. Over the agony, Dered could smell his tears. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave you there.”

He moaned. Whined. Pulled. Something was holding him down, pulling his arms apart. He wanted to claw at himself. Find the spot where the pain was brightest and open the relief valve. But whatever held his wrist tight was made with real magic, and it wouldn’t let him go.

He cried out his pain. His frustration. Stiles. Stiles had betrayed him. The Alpha had been there, was ready to help him, make this pain go away, and Stiles had kidnapped Derek.

“Shit,” Stiles said. The road was uneven and the Camaro veered wildly. The scent of blood filled Derek’s nose, and the harder he fought, the stronger the smell became. Yes. There was still a way out. He could do it.

“Derek!”

The car skidded on loose gravel, swinging the tail out sideways. Derek growled, but his vision cleared. They were still in the forest. Maybe they weren’t that far away from wherever Stiles had brought them. Maybe Derek could get back to the Alpha.

Stiles pulled the seat forward, as Derek started to struggle again. The Alpha. He had to find the Alpha.

“Stop!” Stiles reached for him, but Derek snapped, teeth inches away from Stiles’s fingers. “Derek! Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

Derek howled, but he glanced down, to where Stiles was hunched over and muttering to himself. He lifted his head to eye Derek a little desperately, and in doing so, exposed the silver ring of a cuff circling Derek’s wrist, with a link of chain extending to the bracket of the seat in front of him. As Stiles continued to chant, the cuff began to glow, but just as the metal was about to become too hot for Derek to tolerate, the glowing faded and the metal went black, before it fell away.

Stiles immediately grasped Derek’s wrist, and he finally noticed that it had been rubbed raw and was bleeding.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Stiles said, over and over.

Derek pulled at his other wrist, but it was also bound, and the trickle of blood over his palm and down into the creases of his knuckles said that he had torn the skin there too in his efforts to get free.

“Stiles.” He fought for every letter. His control was barely there, thin like wet tissue paper. “Undo me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. They said you’d react badly if I took you away. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you there. I couldn’t let you—”

Derek’s free wrist was already healing, so he pulled his hand away from Stiles’s grasp, to rest it on his friend’s head instead.

“Untie me. Please.”

Stiles looked frightened as he came around to the other side of the car, but he opened the door, pulled the chair forward, and repeated his incantation, releasing Derek’s other wrist. The cuts here were deeper, and bubbled a little at the edges.

“Mountain ash?” he said, watching as the sores knit and faded.

Stiles flinched, but nodded. “They had a warlock that made the cuffs for them, but they said they’d never found anything so magical that they’d needed to use them.

Except a pissed off werewolf in heat who has just been cockblocked by his best friend.

Stiles whined, a wolfish sound he didn't make very often. It was the sound pups make when they’ve done something wrong and are afraid of what the pack will do.

Derek shuffled over to one side of the car, holding his mostly healed arm out. “Come here.”

Stiles eyed him warily for the tiniest fraction of a second, but then scooted inside, the two of them squeezing their adult bodies into the Camaro’s decidedly child-sized backseat.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said again. “I couldn’t—”

Derek stroked his hair, his cheeks, his neck, the way Derek’s mother did when he and Cora and Laura were pups. It was a calming gesture. Reassuring, meant to leave the scent of the pack on them, reminding them of where they belong.

Pack.

“We will always be pack,” Derek said.

Stiles sighed and sank lower against him, head on Derek’s chest. Derek buried his nose in Stiles’s brown hair, the scent a little unfamiliar, like he’d recently changed shampoos. Derek continued to rub his cheek over him, hiding the intruding smell, replacing it with his own.

His.

Stiles.

Pack.

Together.

He should have known they were only in the eye of the storm.

One moment, his touches were about comfort, because Stiles was scared and miserable and all of that was Derek’s fault. The next, like a cloud over the sun, or a predator that has lured its prey into an unsuspecting ambush, the pressure flipped on inside him like a wave.

“Stiles.” He groaned as the heat returned, filling the void left where the Alpha’s power had been.

And Stiles, lulled by his instincts and Derek’s gentle touches, never stood a chance.

Derek was on top of him in a second, rutting, humping.

“Derek? Derek, what—”

“Please.” He moaned into the crook of Stiles’s neck. “Please, I need you.” They were pressed along the tiny space of the backseat, legs twisted and torsos and shoulders barely supported on the narrow width.

“Is it the heat? What—The toys. Let me get—”

Derek didn’t want toys. Didn’t want plastic and silicone and the artificial pleasure they brought. He inhaled Stiles’s scent, warm and potent in the dip of his collarbone. Here too, it wasn’t quite right, but Derek would make it okay.

He would make Stiles his.

His mouth sealed over Stiles’s in a hungry kiss, and he heard Stiles’s sharp intake of breath, felt him stiffen under Derek’s body. He tore his mouth away long enough to beg, because he needed this. Needed Stiles. “Please.”

Their eyes met, whisky brown on silvery green. Stiles swallowed hard, his throat—the very throat Derek wanted more than anything to drag his tongue over, so he could taste Stiles’s sweat and leave his own scent behind—bobbing up and down, before Stiles jerked his head once.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll do it your way. Whatever you need.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I'm sorry! After a bunch of quick updates, life got away from me. I humbly offer gratuitous blow jobs as an apology.

There was being there for your friends, and then there was letting your heat-crazed werewolf friend have sex with you because you felt guilty for ripping him away from the one place that might have been able to help him.

Telling Harlon no had been the hardest thing Stiles had ever done. But leaving Derek there, to be part of someone else’s family, part of someone else’s _pack_ , would have been too much, too hard. No amount of “You can always visit” would have ever made that decision okay.

Harlon had said Derek would react aggressively if Stiles took him away from the territory, that the bonding had already started, and it would hurt Derek to leave. And still Stiles had been a selfish bastard who had handcuffed him in the backseat and turned the car around.

He’d felt the wards as they’d driven over them a second time, and then Derek had exploded. He’d gone all fangs and teeth and blood, and if he hadn’t been restrained, Stiles was pretty sure Derek would have killed him in his desperation to escape.

Now though, he was all gentle touches and soft caresses, his mouth gliding over Stiles’s skin while he held him down in the back of the Camaro. If Stiles were being honest, he’d had this fantasy more than once in his teen years. But it was different now. Because he had no fucking clue how this was going to end, and he’d torn up their one solution. Because he hadn’t thought about Derek like that in a long time. Because even if he had, what was happening right now wasn’t about love or even attraction; it was just a freak of werewolf biology that had ahold of Derek and wouldn’t let go.

And also because there was a seatbelt buckle digging into the base of Stiles’s spine and making one of his legs go numb.

“Hey,” he pushed at Derek’s shoulder. “Can we...um...move? Do this outside?” He was hardly an exhibitionist, but no point in helping a friend out if it was going to leave him paralyzed.

Derek sucked a mark on Stiles’s jaw, just below his ear. The feeling of it was electric, but the sound was kind of slobbering, like a dog hoovering down kibble.

“Derek. Please. The seatbelt, it—”

Without a word, Derek pulled himself up to sitting, peeling off his t-shirt as he went. Then he grabbed Stiles and hauled him up, until Stiles was straddling him. The interior was still cramped and Stiles’s hair brushed the roof, making him hunch, until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from Derek’s.

Derek shuddered beneath him, as his hips bucked up and his hands tightened around Stiles’s waist. Stiles held himself perfectly still, waiting for Derek to let him know what to do. Derek’s erection, impressive in the moments Stiles had caught it out of the corner of his eye in the last few days, felt even bigger as Derek pressed him down and ground against him.

Stiles’s own cock, which had pulsed with arousal more or less constantly since this whole thing started—because horny Derek was hot, okay? And the pheromones pouring off him were undeniable—stayed limp and lifeless in his shorts.

“What do you—” The words came out jagged and rough. “What do you need me to do?” He’d do it, whatever Derek asked. He’d promised, and he owed Derek that much, but suddenly, after days of basically living on a private porn set, Stiles felt shy.

Derek, however, did not appear to have the same qualms. His mouth roamed over Stiles’s skin while he rumbled deep in his chest and his hips kept working. When he’d basically drooled all over Stiles’s throat, he gripped the material of Stiles’s t-shirt, and in one firm tug, he ripped the whole thing from the collar to the hem.

“Oh.” Stiles swallowed hard. “Okay. Sure.”

They were chest to chest now, with nothing between them. Stiles had always thought of Derek as bigger than him, more imposing, but maybe that was only because Stiles had been fifteen when they’d met and so his mental images of Derek were always of a teenager looking at an adult. Because now, as Derek’s hand settled flat along Stiles’s spine and pressed them together while Derek dragged his teeth along Stiles’s shoulder, that sense of bigness wasn’t there. They were equals. Friends. Maybe more.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was soft.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

So he did. Tentative at first, as Stiles tried to wrap his head around the idea of kissing Derek. The one before hadn’t counted. Derek had done all the kissing there. But here, together, Stiles was making this choice. And maybe it was fuelled by guilt, but love too—or loyalty, at least.

Derek tasted animal. Wild. Like the forest and trees that surround the house he lovingly restored and then eventually welcomed the pack into. His tongue was firm and his skin was hot against Stiles’s, but either he could tell Stiles was still settling into the idea of them being together like this, or else even the brief exposure to the alpha had been enough for him to grab some control again.

He pinched one of Stiles’s nipples, making him hiss. When he did it again, the hiss became a groan.

“Do you like that?” he said.

Stiles nodded, concentrating on the new sensations as Derek brushed his thumb back and forth over the sensitive spot, before he dipped his head down and sucked it into his mouth, teasing with his lips and teeth.

“Oh.” Stiles gasped at the sharp pull of Derek’s mouth on his skin, arching into it as Derek’s blunt human fingernails pressed against his shoulder blades, encouraging him even more. For a moment, Stiles had the mental image of those nails turning sharp and pointed, digging into his skin. Not that he wanted the pain. He’d had enough of Derek hurting himself in frenzied heat. But the prick of them, holding him trapped so that Derek could taste and explore as much as he wanted, made Stiles moan and grip Derek’s shoulders tighter and— _ holy shit _ —his cock perked up in his jeans.

“More,” he said, pressing himself against Derek’s roaming tongue. Derek must have known—maybe heard his surging heartbeat, or smelled the change in his sweat—because he growled, his eyes flashing blue up at Stiles for a brief second.

“Yes.” He went back to pinching, and every sting sent strings of white shock up and down Stiles’s body, from his throat and his collarbones to his gut and his groin. “Yes. You want this too.”

He did. Suddenly, the worry stripped away. This was Derek. He trusted Derek, would do anything for him. Die for him. So what was a little sex between friends?

“Der.” He buried his hands in Derek’s hair, tilting his head up so they could look at each other. “What do you need me to do?” Did he even know? He’d been nearly incoherent for days. But he’d known instinctively that an alpha could help. Maybe he knew more.

Derek’s hand on Stiles’s cock was a surprise, even though it shouldn’t have been. But no one but Stiles had touched his dick in what seemed like forever, and now Derek gripped him like it was no big thing, bringing him to full hardness like a pro. Like they had done this before a thousand times.

Like a lover.

Stiles shook his head, focusing on the mechanics of what was happening. He and Derek weren’t lovers. This wasn’t some fairy tale where they were going to find a magic cottage in the woods and make love for days while time stopped around them.

As if he were trying to prove the same point, Derek slid his hand under the waistband of Stiles’s jeans and underwear, until he found the tip of his dick, trailing a finger around the sensitive head. His motions weren’t about intimacy. They were about arousal.

“I want you to come,” he said, as he went back to mouthing over Stiles’s throat. “I need to make you come. Stiles. Please. I need—” The desperation rose in his voice.

“Uh-huh.” The single finger, running over his slit and around the ridged crown, was enough to make Stiles’s thoughts all fuzzy, but his spine was still aching, and a kink was developing in his neck. “Okay, big guy. Can we get out of the car? We can do whatever you want if we can just find a little more room.”

Derek growled, and the vibration of it, where Derek’s teeth were tight on the tough cord of Stiles’s neck, vibrated through his skull and made his eyes roll in his head, but Derek slumped back with a heavy sigh, almost like he was pouting, and Stiles took it as agreement. He scrambled out of the cramped back seat into the fresh air of the forest. 

This was so...tacky? Dirty? It was every terrible porn cliche, looking for a place to fuck in the woods, barely out of earshot from an entire pack of werewolves who probably thoguht they were insane, showing up with a story about two betas, a heat no one could explain and no alpha to speak of.

And holy shit. Fucking? Was Stiles going to have to fuck Derek? He’d said anything, and he’d meant it, but talk about going from zero to sixty in a split second.

The car heaved as Derek crawled out. His underwear was still on, thank God, but he glared at Stiles’s jeans like they were personally offensive.

“Do you—” Stiles put his hands on the button of his fly, and Derek’s nostrils flared. “Okay. Okay yeah. Here we go.” He unzipped himself and slid his pants and boxers down, realizing too late that he’d left his shoes on and he was now trapped with denim and checkered cotton around his ankles.

Derek didn’t seem to care, or be interested in waiting any longer. As soon as Stiles had straightened, he was there, mouth on Stiles’s lips, his clothed cock pressing against Stiles’s naked one, bring it back to full attention. 

“Stiles. Stiles. I need you. Need your smell on my skin. Inside me.”

Stiles gulped.  _ Zero to sixty. Here we go.  _

But before he could ask if they needed lube, or if Derek had a favorite position, or any of the bajillion questions suddenly battering at his brain to buy him just one more second before everything changed, Derek dropped to his knees and licked Stiles’s cock from tip to base and back again.

“Derek?” he squeaked. Manfully. Squeaking could be very manful.

“You smell so good.” 

Derek didn’t sound like he was waiting for a response, but Stiles couldn’t help himself when he said, “Thanks?”

He squeaked some more when Derek swallowed him whole. 

He’d had blow jobs before. Given some too. Been told his technique was pretty good. But anyone who said that had clearly never had Derek Hale sucking on their dick.

“Oh my God.” Stiles’s head fell back, and the sky wheeled overhead, while every single other one of his senses focused on the wet suction of the hot mouth pulling on his cock like it had been made for it. “Oh my God, Derek.”

Derek growled, and his eyes were blue when he glanced up, but he didn’t stop. Stiles’s whole body went wobbly, and only the Camaro behind him and Derek’s firm hand planted on Stiles’s belly kept him upright.

Stiles’s thoughts were like the moment before falling asleep. Tiny fragments of words, ideas, nothing he could hold onto. Derek’s eyes glowing red the first time he’d told Stiles and Scott he was the alpha now. His petulant frown and the excited thump of his heart the first time Stiles had suggested they all move into the pack house. The wet press of Derek’s wolf nose against Stiles’s the first time they’d run together under the full moon. 

The cool thrill as a breeze blew over Stiles’s exposed cock, while Derek licked at the slit, lapping pre-cum like he couldn't get enough of it. 

No. No, that wasn’t a memory. That was happening now. Stiles’s body was shaking, and a slow growling whine like a weed whacker was spilling from his throat, and Derek’s dark head covered Stiles’s groin while he worked Stiles’s cock like the best fucking wet dream ever imagined.

“Yeah. Yeah, Derek. Keep—More—You—” His hips bucked when Derek swallowed him down. There was no gagging, just a warm ripple as he swallowed and took Stiles deep into his throat. “You should only ever do this.”

He couldn’t help himself as he buried his hands in Derek’s hair, holding him where he was, taking over, pumping himself in and out of Derek’s eager mouth. This. They had been made for this. Naked in the woods where anyone and no one could hear them and Stiles could come all over Derek’s perfect skin and—

“Derek?” He didn’t stop long enough to let Derek answer. The rhythm of it, thrusting deep, feeling Derek’s tight throat taking him in and releasing him with grasping suction, was addictive. “What do you need me to do?”

Zero to sixty. His orgasm was close, but if Derek needed to be fucked, Stiles would find a way to hold off long enough to get inside him. Or he could come down Derek’s throat. Watch as the thin skin around his esophagus stretched while Derek swallowed his cum. His wolf growled possessively at the thought.

Derek had to fight Stiles’s grip to pull his mouth away long enough to answer, and Stiles found he liked that little bit of struggle too, even though he’d never been particularly dominant in bed before. But who was in bed? Maybe forest sex brought out his inner animal.

“Want you to come on me,” Derek’s voice was a rasp, and Stiles wanted to kiss him for it. Tell him how good he was doing, pleasing Stiles the way he was. “On my skin. Wanna smell like you until—”

Until the next time. The heats would get closer together until—

Stiles couldn’t think about that. One thing at a time. He was helping his friend, and that was all that mattered.

He gripped his cock, feeling it jump in his palm. He sighed when Derek licked him, lapping at the tip.

“Jerk youself off,” Derek said.

Stiles’s hips rolled. “Definitely unnecessary.” Every pass of Derek’s tongue, the way it curled around the ridged head and dipped into his slit, had pressure building in his balls in the small of his back. His hand on his cock wasn’t about masturbation, he just needed something to hold on to, because he was pretty sure the orgasm that was building was going to make him lose consciousness.

It got worse when he realized Derek had pulled his own cock out and was jerking it in hard rough strokes. The head bobbed in and out from between his fingers, red and leaking. Stiles had seen Derek come over and over in the last few days, and had only felt fear and panic and the mounting sense that they were losing control. But now, they idea that they’d lose it together…

“Der—” He panted, but couldn’t get the second syllable out as his hips bucked and cum spurted from his dick in an eruption. He shouted, watching as white semen coated Derek’s chin, his throat and his chest. Stiles had never come so hard in his life, and when a new, sharp scent filled the air—the smell of Derek’s own orgasm—his own spasms started all over again, like his balls didn’t want to be accused of under performing.

This next thing he knew, he was sitting, bare ass on the ground, hand around his limp dick.

“Holy shit.” Maybe he really had passed out. 

“Uh-huh,” Derek said breathlessly. He was sitting next to Stiles, propped against the car, and Stiles had no memory of him moving. One hand was stroking over his chest and Stiles’s wolf arched and growled possessively at the sight of Derek smoothing Stiles’s cum into his skin. Stiles’s gaze dropped down, to where more cum— Derek’s by the smell of it—was splattered on his belly.

“Can I?” Stiles asked, but he barely waited before he ran a finger through it, watching the way Derek’s muscles jerked at the touch, before his whole body went slack, while Stiles painted the traces of their orgasms together.

The forest was quiet, and the raw feeling at the back of Stiles’s throat brought back a faint memory of screaming while his dick had jerked and shot spurt after spurt of cum across Derek’s body, just the way he’d asked. 

“Feeling better?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked up, the shadows from leaves and branches high overhead playing dappled shadows over his face. “Think so.”

Stiles swallowed. “For how long, do you think?”

Derek ran a hand over his chest, bringing up their mixed scents. “No idea. More than a few minutes, less than a few hours.”

Fuck. But that was pretty much Stiles had expected. 

“We need to get somewhere a little soundproof until we figure out what we’re doing next.”

Stiles had a very good idea what they were going to do next. But how much time would it buy them?

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How long has it been? I'm so sorry. Summer is always super busy and my writing projects are truly multiplying like rabbits right now.
> 
> Can I win you back with orgasms, tentacle dildos, and angsty feels?

Derek sat in the front seat of the Camaro, hands clasped between his knees. His whole body shook, and he had clenched every muscle he could to try to keep from coming apart right here in the car.

His wolf was happy, at least. It yipped and metaphorically rolled in the combined scent of Stiles and Derek that was pressed into his skin. Saliva, sweat and cum. Derek knew Stiles's smells well, but to have them on his own body, these scents of need and want, instead of the usual ones that smelled like fear and stress, like family and pack...He didn’t know what to do with them.

His wolf didn’t care. Stretching languidly under his skin, trying to suck it all in, it sighed.

Stiles bounded down the front steps of the small building he’d entered a few minutes earlier. He’d found them a little summer resort—if it could be called a resort. The registration desk was in a small log cabin, with smaller cabins lined up in a semi circle that backed onto a line of dense trees that swallowed what sunlight was left in the day. 

“Okay,” Stiles slid into the driver’s seat. A key on a giant plastic keychain shaped like a trout was clenched between his teeth. “I got us a cottage at the back.”

“Did you tell them why we needed one at the back?” Derek shivered as sweat trickled down his back.

Stiles glared at him. “Of course not. I said we were amateur astronomers and wanted to stay up late stargazing, so we needed to be away from the road.”

The property had one single light, right at the corner where they had pulled off the highway. Not exactly something that was going to interfere with their view of Venus once the sun went down, but Derek had other fish to fry.

Like the fact Stiles was back in the car, and Derek’s wolf was suddenly very interested in closing the minimal distance between them.

Stiles glanced at him nervously. “Almost there.”

Derek clenched his hands together until his knuckles popped. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I know what I promised. But we’re so close to having a little privacy. Let’s not embarrass ourselves thirty feet from the door, yeah?”

But Derek _had_ embarrassed himself. In fact, he couldn’t say he really had any dignity left. Getting to the point of desperation that he’d practically devoured Stiles cock first was not something he’d ever be proud of. And the fact that he already needed to do it again only made it worse. His self-control was dust, and now he’d sucked—quite literally—Stiles into this mess too.

And the worst part was that he’d enjoyed it. Sucking Stiles off, listening to the sounds he’d made as he’d come all over Derek...They were tattooed inside his brain and played over and over in a highlight reel. It should have been mechanical. Impersonal. An exchange of bodily fluids and a “thanks man” fist bump. But Derek’s wolf was trotting in impatient circles, ready to roll over and expose its soft belly for the chance to have Stiles touch them again.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Stiles said, when they got inside. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

The wolf did not like that at all. A shower would mean washing off their scent. Stiles would smell like himself again, not Stiles-and-Derek. He’d smell like cheap motel soap and clean skin, and that was  _ bad bad bad. _

“Sure.” Derek had to fight to get the word out. He was hardly in a place to make demands. Or rather, he’d be making demands soon enough. The most personal ones he possibly could. He couldn’t very well stand in the way of Stiles’s personal hygiene.

Stiles gave him another nervous glance, but Derek shot him a brave smile and sat at the edge of the bed, hands shoved between his knees again. He was already half hard, and his heart was thumping erratically. Whatever Stiles planned to do in the shower, he’d need to be fast.

Stiles’s smile was sympathetic, like he understood. And of course he did. He could hear Derek’s heartbeat. Could smell the way his sweat had shifted from nervous agitation to the beginnings of the lust that set his brain on fire.

“I’ll be quick,” he said, and then his own scent went hot and flustered, while his cheekbones picked up a flush of pink. “In the shower. I’ll be quick in the shower. Then—” He bumped his hip on the edge of the doorframe and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Derek hunched into himself and gritted his teeth. The wolf whined and snapped, upset that Stiles had disappeared where they couldn’t see him or smell him. In the bathroom, the water turned on, groaning through pipes that probably hadn't been used in a while.

The cabin was small. An efficiency unit with one bed that was probably the small size of a queen, a desk, a narrow sofa, and a basic kitchenette. The resort was a lucky find. Not exactly completely private, since Derek could see the next unit not twenty feet away through the small window behind the bed, but still more secluded than if they’d been forced to hole up in another motel somewhere.

His body clenched and he sucked in a hard breath, fighting off the wave that was prickling over his skin. Need. He needed. In a minute, he’d ache with it.

_ Need need need. _

_ Want want want. _

And a new chant now, one that made his heart tick up with fear and anticipation and other feelings he didn’t want to name. Couldn’t name. It wouldn’t be fair to—

_ Stiles. Stiles Stiles Stiles. _

A voice filtered through the thin bathroom while. Stiles, in fact. The words were hard to hear over the rush of water, and that was probably his plan. Derek did his best to hold himself still and focus, ignoring the thrumming chant in his blood and his dick long enough to try to make out the conversation.

“...here for a while…”

“...I couldn’t leave…”

“...I don’t know…”

“...Lyds, I’m scared.”

Even the last confession didn’t do anything the quell the demand bubbling under Derek’s skin. Stiles. He needed Stiles. If Stiles was scared, Derek would make it better. They’d make everything better, together.

He hissed at the sting of his claws as they bit into his palms. He unfolded his hands and watched as the shallow cuts healed before they even had a chance to bleed. His shirt grated over his skin like sandpaper, and his dick was pitching a tent in his boxer briefs that could accommodate a family for the weekend.

No humility left.

He was pumping himself in a lubed fist, eyes squeezed tight, replaying the highlights from the blowjob by the car, when Stiles came out of the bathroom. The action was empty though. Derek was already so aroused there was no way there could much blood left in his brain, but his hand wouldn’t be enough to get himself off, and he needed to come.

“Oh, um,” Stiles’s voice was hesitatnt.

Derek opened his eyes, taking in the sight of him. The taut skin, pulled over strong muscle. He’d filled out as an adult, and then even more as a wolf. He would never particularly hairy, but Derek had liked the way Stiles’s skin had felt and tasted under his tongue. 

“Need you,” he said hoarsely.

“Oh,” Stiles’s hand tensed around the towel snugged at his waist, but then he swallowed and nodded. “Right. I’m on it.”

He dropped the towel.

Derek had learned the fine art of not staring at naked packmates from the time he’d been a teenager and gone out on his first runs with his family. Even after Scott and Stiles and the others had joined him at the old house, he’d never been particularly interested in their bodies, and especially not what they carried below the belt. They were pack, not mates.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off Stiles now. His narrow hips. The dark thatch of hair at his groin, the cock that was already swelling from it, lifting away from the wrinkled balls beneath. Derek wanted to touch. He wanted to cover every inch of Stiles with his mouth. He wanted their scents to twine so completely the rest of the pack would have trouble telling them apart.

And the depth of what he felt was terrifying, because he’d never wanted that from Stiles before and, as far as he knew, Stiles had never felt that way either.

He held out his shaking free hand. “Need you.”

Stiles stumbled toward the bed, licking his lips and running his fingers over his skin. The motion didn’t look like it was about seduction—not that Derek needed seducing—but more like Stiles couldn’t quite figure out what to do with his hands. He knelt at the edge of the bed and crawled toward Derek. His hand on Derek’s chest was like ice, and Derek arched into it, away from the furnace burning him alive inside his own body.

Stiles’s lips on his were gentle, tentative, like they had been before, and while his scent, rinsed clean again the shower, was most that of growing arousal, there was a hint of fear at the edge of it that make Derek whine.

“What do you want me to do?” Stiles said.

“Come on me.” Derek's reply was instantaneous. “Like before.”

Stiles nodded, and the consent was all Derek had been waiting for. He reached for him, pulling them close and sliding Stiles underneath him, rolling so that Stiles was pressed into the mattress so that Derek could cover every inch of his body.

_ Need need need. _

_ Want want want. _

_ Stiles. Stiles Stiles Stiles. _

The wolf panted, then gave a toothy grin as Stiles bent a knee, sliding it between Derek’s legs. Derek groaned and sealed his mouth over Stiles’s, pressing their tongues together, tasting him, while his hips worked on their own time, stroking his cock over the firm heat of Stiles’s skin.

The edge of fear in Stiles’s scent vanished, and Derek rewarded him by licking over his throat and nipping at the thin skin of his armpit, liking the way Stiles yelped, but then lifted his arm over his head to give Derek better access. He pressed his nose into the warm dark, breathing in Stiles’s scent.

_ Stiles. Stiles Stiles. _

“Do you want to suck me off again?” Stiles said. Derek’s gums ached, as his fangs tried to punch through. Yes. He wanted that, Wanted the taste of Stiles in his mouth. Wanted the pain as Stiles’s fingers buried in Derek’s hair and pulled as he fought for a control that Derek didn’t want him to have any more.

He wanted something else though. His body ached for it, and his legs slid restlessly over the comforter. But as he pushed up onto his elbows, pressing their pelvises together so his cock stayed trapped against Stiles’s, the brief tang of fear filled his nose again. His body, his instincts, begged him, but the last shreds of his humanity wouldn’t make Stiles do something he wasn’t comfortable doing. 

Derek came up to his knees, frantically working his cock as he tried to calm down long enough to find the words. He would be okay. This would be okay. It had to be.

“Get the bag,” the words were clipped, distorted slightly by his teeth as they deformed.

“The bag?” Stiles swallowed.

“The  _ bag. _ ” His hips rocked, pumping brutally into his fist. The lube was long gone, smeared on Stiles’s skin, and the friction should have been painful, but it wasn’t as painful as the sting of his claws as they sprouted from his free hand and dug into his own thigh.

Stiles’s eyes widened. “The bag. Yeah. Yeah, I’m on it.” He rolled, falling off the bed and tumbling to the floor, into the narrow space between the frame and the wall, before he popped up again and stumbled to the impersonal and unlabeled bag on the floor.

He spilled the sex toys out on the bed. “What do you want?”

Derek’s spine bowed, the heat mounting. It was like something out of a Ridley Scott movie, and the alien was going to burst out of his chest at any second if he didn’t get some relief.

“Dildo,” he gasped. “Please. I need it.”

The fear smell peaked for a second, before it was replaced by unadulterated lust. The kind that had poured off of Stiles for about a week and a half the summer before he’d graduated high school. Derek hadn’t smelled it that distinctly, but the need in his body was momentarily distracted by it.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” Stiles was moving around the bed, grabbing the toy, a bottle of lube, his discarded towel. “Lie down. Get on your back.” He pulled a pillow from the head of the bed and set it on the mattress under Derek’s hips.

“Please,” Derek’s fangs were at their full length now. He’d start chewing on his own lip soon, if it meant getting the thing inside him out.

The cool wet of Stiles’s finger on his crack was a shock, but he lifted his knees and spread his feet out. 

“More.”

“Hold on.” Stiles was staring down at him with the intensity of a surgeon.

“More!” 

“Alright!” Stiles snapped. “Jesus. Fuck. I don’t want to hurt you, okay?”

But the heat was more pain than Stiles could ever inflict on him. 

One finger, then two. Derek whined and his hips worked on instinct, fucking him on two small fingers that would never be enough.

“Stiles.”

“Okay. You’re almost ready.”

They were going to have to talk about foreplay, and how Derek didn’t need any. Not now. Whatever Stiles did, Derek could take it.

The dildo should have been ridiculous. Pink and tapered, with silicone suckers like an octopus's on one side. In any other situation, Derek would have told Stiles there was no way in hell he could put that thing in Derek’s ass, but right now it only looked like relief. He let go of his cock and slipped his hands around his thighs, pulling them back so Stiles could have all the access he needed.

He panted at the first pressure. Stiles was totally focused on his work, and for a minute Derek wished Stiles would look at him so he could tell him it was okay. It didn’t hurt. He needed this.

If he couldn’t have Stiles—couldn’t  _ ask _ Stiles to fuck him, the tentacle would do.

The first sucker popped inside his rim and he groaned. Stiles twisted it and the second sucker slid in. Derek panted, holding himself open, taking in everything Stiles could give him.

“Jesus.” The word sounded a little awestruck. “Look at you. Why is that so hot?”

Derek rocked his hips, feeling the tug of the dildo on his hole, and the sensation sent small fireworks up and down his body. “More. Keep going.”

Stiles ran a hand along the inside of Derek’s thigh, making his cock jump. “You want more?” The awe turned to something darker, and a stream of pre-cum leaked onto Derek’s belly.

“Please.” He rocked. “Please.”

All the need, all the heat, was pooling in his stomach and his groin. With every inch of pressure from the dildo, every second of burning stretch as Stiles pressed it into him, the frenzy coalesced into something he could manage.

When Stiles pulled it halfway out he shook his head. “No. No, put it back. Please. I need it inside me.”

Stile bit his lip and, without warning, shoved the dildo in hard. Derek arched and howled, his head thrown back and cum spurted out of him unexpectedly. He’d needed this so badly and yet he hadn’t thought it would be the thing to push him over the edge.

Stiles worked him, pumping the dildo back and forth. Derek cursed and snarled, but he didn’t ever ask him to stop. The pain lessened, the clawing fury in his body shrank. His erection didn’t wane though, and ask Stiles fucked him with the stupid pink dildo, Derek took it, becuase it was the best option he had.

The best option if he couldn’t have Stiles in side of him.

“Need you to come,” he said between gasps as Stiles pumped the toy.

“Do you want me to?” Stiles’s hair was matted down with sweat. “Want me to come on you like I did before.”

“Please. Stiles. Please, I need you on me.”  _ In me _ , but he couldn’t ask Stiles for that. Stiles leaned back, pulling the dildo out and Derek scrabbled. “No. No, leave it in while you—Just leave it in.” He wanted it. Wanted the pressure. The feeling of fullness while Stiles made himself come.

Stiles tilted forward, still twisting the toy in tight circles, while he mashed their mouths together. He bit at Derek’s lip, making him growl.

“You’re so hot. I didn’t know—I—.” He slammed the dildo home, filling Derek all the way up. Then he climbed up over Derek’s body, straddling his hips. His cock was already hard and leaking. The head was flushed and Derek wanted to taste it, but if he moved, the dildo might slide out, and he wanted the sensation of it inside him more than he wanted Stiles’s taste on his tongue right now.

Stiles lubed up both hands. He used one to work his cock furiously, the head pumping in and out of his fist like a piston. With the other, he arched back, and Derek didn’t have to see what he was doing to know. The hiss as Stiles slid a finger or two into his own ass, so much faster than he’d done for Derek, was enough. The smell of his lust. Derek’s eyes rolled back in his head. 

“Oh fuck. Is this what it feels like for you? This hot?” Stiles panted as he rocked, fucking himself on his own fingers while he jacked himself. 

“Come. Please. Come on me. Want to smell like you.”  _ Want to be yours _ the wolf said, but Derek ignored it, because that wasn’t their agreement. Stiles was his friend. His beautiful flushed friend, whose eyes were closed tight as he fucked himself over Derek.

Derek swallowed his own words and clenched his ass, twisting his hips until he found the spot where an obliging sucker pressed against his prostate. The toy was ridiculous. Fetishy and humiliating. But Derek had no humility left, so what did he care.

“You feel so good,” Stiles said, eyes still closed. His voice was breathy, almost like he was talking in his sleep.

Derek’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Stiles’s whole body was a river of motion. He licked his lips. “So wet. So tight. Wanna—” The next word was strangled and he shuddered, while his orgasm ripped out of him in blissful white lines, spraying over Derek’s body. The heat, the smell, the way satisfaction and desire rippled off Stiles’s scent in waves...Derek gave another squeeze on the dildo, and another orgasm spilled out of him, making the world go white.

He was sorry he didn’t get to see Stiles ride his pleasure all the way through to the end.

They lay next to each other. The bed was a wreck, the sheets twisted and all the pillows on the floor, except for the one still pinned under Derek’s hips. His body was soaked in cum, and Stiles lay pressed up against his side while he played in the white smear, rubbing it slowly into Derek’s skin. 

The quiet bliss was heaven. The monster fed, for now. Derek’s wolf gave a rumbly chuckle as it curled up inside him, sated for now.

“That was—” Stiles said.

“Yeah.” Derek wasn’t sure his limbs still worked.

“I should have asked for extra sheets at the desk.”

Derek ran a hand down his body until he found Stiles’s. He twined their fingers together in a sticky embrace. “How would you have explained that?”

Stiles buried his face into Derek’s armpit. “I would have thought of something.”

He always did.

Derek would have to do the same. He felt better, for now. But it wouldn’t be enough. He knew that, instinctively, in the way the lights in the room still seemed too bright, and the sheet against his skin would never be fully comfortable.

He’d have to find a way to tell Stiles that the toys, the fingers and the blowjobs, they wouldn’t be enough to get him through this.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting there...  
> This one is basically all sex...and then a little aggressive at the end. I promise no one gets hurt or will get hurt. They just gotta work out their issues, you know?

So yeah, the blow jobs weren’t working anymore. Which was fine with Stiles, because holy shit he was going to need some serious massage or chiropractic adjustments to get the kink out of his neck when they got back to Beacon Hills.

If they got back to Beacon Hills.

In the last twelve hours, he’d had more orgasms than he’d probably had in the year before. Something about Derek’s heat pheromones gave Stiles the refractory period of a fifteen-year-old, and while his teenage self would have been delighted, his adult self was exhausted.

And he stank. Sweat and jizz and ugh, but every time he mentioned taking a shower, Derek would go ballistic and jump on top of him and work him up until all Stiles could think about was coming all over again.

Also, it wasn’t working. Derek’s moments of lucidity were becoming shorter and shorter. His eyes kept flickering blue and his claws and teeth would pop out with now warning, and any time Stiles even twitched like he might be trying to put some space into him, Derek would whine and claw—himself, the sheets, Stiles—until Stiles rolled back and soothed him.

“Alpha,” Derek moaned. It was a heartbreaking sound, as he writhed on the sheets. He was naked, hard, and his hips were rocking, searching for relief that wasn’t there, because there was no Alpha, and that was all Stiles’s fault.

They’d torn the Fleshlight, and Stiles was going to have to write a letter to the manufacturer about stress testing.

“Shh,” Stiles said, walking himself on his knees so he could line himself up with Derek’s mouth. If you’d asked him before today about tragedy, he would have talked about slogging through  _ Hamlet _ in high school English, and what was the point of a play where literally everyone died?

But no. No. Tragedy was when you were so fucked out the idea of yet another blow job made your dick shrivel.

Except, of course, they hadn’t actually done any fucking, had they? Because Stiles had—much to his surprise—internalized another important high school lesson, which was that sex was kind of a big deal. And look, not a single one of his teachers had ever meant “don’t have sex with your werewolf best friend before he goes completely feral because you took away the Alpha who was his only chance at recovery” when they talked about saving yourself for marriage, but somehow Stiles’s moral compass had decided this situation applied anyway.

And it wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t fucked and been fucked before. But those guys had all been for fun, and this felt...important.

But he was going to have to put on his big boy dick and do it, because Derek was getting worse.

“Alpha.”

“Okay, okay.” Stiles pushed Derek onto his back, running his hands over Derek’s hairy chest. Derek rocked underneath him, pushing Stiles’s palms farther down his body.

“Alpha.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He went where Derek lead him, hoping they’d stall for a second at Derek’s cock, but nope, Derek curled up on himself so he could push Stiles all the way down and around until they had just one destination left. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath. “One sec, big guy. Just let me get the lube.” But he’d only gotten half a finger off the crease of Derek’s ass, before Derek shot up, snarling, fangs exposed.

“Alpha!” He was practically drooling, and his eyes had gone full blue. Stiles nearly shrank back, his wolf cowering because it didn’t know how to fix this.

But Derek showed him. He rolled and arched, nails dragging over his own skin. His claws shrank back, and as soon as they did, Derek shoved two fingers into his ass and groaned.

Stiles gaped.

“Alpha.” Derek fucked himself, body flushing with the stimulation, and what do you know? Stiles’s dick got back with the program too. Derek’s fingers worked in and out of himself with quick ease, and when he pulled his hand free entirely, he dragged a line of slick over his ass and across his thigh that—

Stiles’s throat went dry at the scent. “That’s not lube.”

It could be lube. They’d certainly used enough of it. But the smell was different. Impossible. Only omegas were—

But Derek rolled all the way over onto his belly, pulling his knees up so that his ass was in the air, and the glistening shine around his hole wasn’t sweat or lube, it was…

Stiles inhaled. There. Under the sweat and the spunk, the fear, anxiety, and even the room’s harsh smell of weeks’ old carpet cleaner, was Derek’s slick.

“Oh my god.” Stiles crawled forward, watching the way Derek’s hole flexed as he approached, the way his opening seemed to get wetter the nearer Stiles came. “You shouldn’t be able to do this.”

“Alpha.” Derek’s cheek was pressed into the mattress, and he pulled his cheeks apart, presenting himself in every way he could. He whined when Stiles put his palms on Derek’s ass, pushing back against it. Stiles dragged his thumbs down, rubbing over the crack, circling the tight muscle that was warm and wet to the touch.

“Derek, how is this happening?” He’d heard about omegas who made their own slick in heat. The lore was clear enough that an omega would do pretty much anything to get an Alpha to fuck them, including what should not have been biologically impossible. But for a beta to do it...Except who the hell was Stiles to judge the impossible when nothing about what was happening was right?

Derek whimpered and rocked as Stiles explored. He cried out when Stiles pushed one exploratory digit inside him—and holy shit it was the best fuck of Stile’s life and it was just half his index finger. Derek was hot and wet and tight and when Stiles slid in a second finger without so much as a hint of resistance, the sensations tried to melt his brain.

“Alpha. Alpha Alpha Alpha.”

“Yeah.” Stiles’s voice was surprisingly rough. “Yeah, big guy. We’re gonna do it.” Suddenly all his hang ups felt juvenile. Pointless. Literally completely without point, because the entire purpose of Stiles’s life was to have his dick in Derek’s ass.

Who knew?

He was so hard the sensation of his hand on his own cock was painful as he positioned himself. “Okay. Hang on.”

Apparently, Derek was not keen on following instructions. He slammed himself back so fast Stiles nearly fell over. Thank god for wolfy reflexes and strength. He grabbed hold, wrapping his arms around Derek’s middle, and held on, hauling Derek up onto his knees.

“Yes!” Derek said through a mouthful of fangs, as he pounded his hips up and down on Stiles’s dick.

“Okay. Okay, just—” Stiles was still reeling. Holy shit. Being inside Derek was...oh my god it was perfect. Hot, slick, and so tight Stiles couldn’t ever imagine being satisfied by his own fist again. There was hardly any friction, just the fast glide of Derek’s ass stroking him over and over.

“Alpha. Alpha, yes, Alpha!” Derek was working so hard the bed creaked.

“Yeah, okay, just—” Stiles did not want break something—namely the furniture. Derek’s voice was growing in pitch, reaching a howl, and someone was going to hear and come knocking and what the hell was Stiles supposed to say?

“Alpha!”

“Stop!”

Derek froze, and Stiles realized suddenly he had Derek by the throat, forcing his head up, while Stiles’s claws pressed menacingly into the skin of his neck. Derek whined and shook, and his ass clenched around Stiles’s erection, but if he moved more than that, Stiles growled in his ear with a low sound he’d never heard his own body make before.

“Please?” Derek’s word was soft, a little desperate, but quieter at least.

“Jesus,” Stiles moaned. He relaxed his hold, forcing his claws away. Derek was arched against him, his ass tucked against Stiles’s hips, and his skin made little goosebumps as Stiles dragged his lips and teeth over the muscles of Derek’s shoulder.

Derek whined, whole body shaking, like he was cold or scared.

Or incredibly sexually frustrated.

“Slow down,” Stiles said. He slid his hand away from Derek’s throat, bringing it around to the back of his neck instead, so he could push Derek’s head down. Derek went willingly, slowly collapsing all the way back to the mattress, until his cheek and chest were spread out on the bed, with his ass still cradled in Stiles’s thighs and pelvis. 

“Hands up.” Stiles bit Derek’s earlobe, and Derek did as he was told—and jesus, a compliant Derek had to be almost as hot as a slick one—burying his hands in the pillows above his head. “Good boy.”

If Derek hadn’t been out of his mind with heat, he’d have ripped Stiles’s throat out for the good boy comment, and maybe he would later, but Stiles didn’t give him time to work up the coherence for it before he spread himself along Derek’s back, covering his whole body. Slowly, he dragged his dick out of the furnace of Derek’s ass, ignoring the whimper that came from beneath him as he did it. He pulled all the way out, until his tip held Derek’s cheeks apart, and trembled as the relatively cool air hit his cock.

“Good boy. Hold still.”

Beneath him, Derek vibrated, like he was trying to do what Stiles told him, even while his body fought him. Stiles rewarded him with kisses along his back and shoulders, calling him a good boy and letting him know that Stiles was going to take care of him.

When he finally felt Derek start to relax, he thrust into with a snap.

“Yes!” Derek wailed, but Stiles didn’t let him say anything else. He forced Derek’s head down, pushing his mouth into the mattress, whiles Stiles’s hips pistoned back and forth, pushing himself as deep into Derek’s ass as he could before sliding out again just as fast.

Werewolf strength had its perks.

Derek moaned and whined underneath him, squirmed, but not with any real effort. He begged and chanted. His whole body went slippery with sweat, but his ass just—god, no wonder omegas were irresistible once the heat started. Stiles might never be able to go back to lube. Every thrust inside Derek made him harder and harder, the fit and the slide just perfect.

“So good,” he said in Derek’s ear. “You feel so good.”

Derek came, his whole body arching and spasming, and Stiles thought he might come too, but just as his body started to send off sparks, Derek relaxed again, slumping underneath him.

“Alpha.”

“Yeah?” Stiles followed him down, as Derek seemed to melt into the mattress, and something about it, Stiles didn't know he’d been waiting for this. He’d liked the tension, like Derek was barely holding himself together, and begging for something only Stiles could give him. But this—it was like total submission. Like Derek was completely helpless. Stiles had never been one for power. If he needed to be in charge in the bedroom, bossing from the bottom was more his speed. But Derek, limp, pliable, and totally willing to be whatever Stiles needed him to be? Stiles dragged his teeth over the back of Derek’s neck and along his shoulder. “Mine.”

He fucked into Derek like he was possessed, like he needed to get deeper, mark harder. His spit and his sweat must have coated Derek’s skin and it wasn’t enough. 

_ Mine. _

The pressure in his balls was incredible. The tingling in his back felt like he was about to blow apart. His buried his fingers in Derek’s hair, pulling his head up hard enough it had to hurt. Derek whimpered but didn’t fight, and just the knowledge that his throat was exposed, the most vulnerable part of him open where Stiles could so easily reach around and...

He’d never hurt Derek, only ever wanted to take care of his friend and his pack, but the knowledge that Derek—who never trusted anyone—trusted Stiles enough to open himself like that…

The orgasm went on forever, and all Stiles could do was bury his face in the dark space between Derek’s neck and the mattress. His hips bucked and pumped, while the rest of him trembled. Derek’s ass seemed to lock around him, milking him, taking everything he had to offer, and Stiles didn’t know if he would ever stop.

Werewolves rarely got out of breath, but Stiles was panting so hard he thought he might black out.

But slowly, he heard someone saying his name.

“Stiles. Stiles?”

Derek? His voice sounded very far away.

But then it was closer. And then it wasn’t just his voice. His skin. His scent. The warmth of him, still trapped under Stiles.

“Hey.” Derek’s voice was hoarse, but sounded surprisingly normal, considering Stiles was still basically coming down from an out of body experience.

“Yeah?” The word was strangled, and a shiver rippled over his body. Sweat cooled on his back. Slowly, he rocked his hips, grunting as his soft and too-sensitive cock slowly pulled out of Derek.

“You okay?” Derek said. He wasn’t moving. His heartbeat was up, but he was completely frozen like a prey animal.

“Yeah.” Stiles winced as he pushed himself up, unsticking himself from Derek’s back. “Why?”

Derek stayed exactly where he was until Stiles flopped over, throwing himself onto his back, head propped up near the headboard. Only then, did Derek turn slowly, almost tentatively. Bruises were fading on his throat, and he wouldn’t meet Stiles’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Derek sat up, looking weirdly hesitant for such a big man. He kept his gaze down, as he said, “You just spent the last five minutes growling in my ear.”

Stiles laughed, but his laughter wilted when Derek didn’t join him. “What?”

“You,” Derek shuddered. “You came, but then you wouldn’t move. And any time I tried to move, you’d growl and snap until I stopped.”

Stiles went cold. “I did?” He had no memory of that. Nothing from the second his balls had released until just a few—

Derek glanced at him, finally, eyes normal colored, and maybe a little afraid, but his scent was clearing. No fear. Less heat. Slowly, he crawled up until they lay side by side.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said.

“I know.” Derek’s voice was thoughtful. “I can smell it on you.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“I don’t think you were trying to hurt me. Just trying to—” He ran a hand over his face.

“What?” Stiles’s little werewolf heart was beating like a rabbit’s.

“It was like my mom. Well not—” He waved at their naked bodies. “But, when we were younger, after our first shift...Sometimes teenage werewolves are, well, teenagers. And during a run we’d get ahead of ourselves. Over excited. If we strayed too far, got too close to danger, my mom would snap at us like that. The look on her face said she’d rip our throats out if we moved. But you could smell it on her. It wasn’t anger, she wasn’t angry at us. She didn’t want to punish us. It was love.” Derek tilted his head to look at Stiles. “It was dominance. Not like anything kinky. It was pack. And she was the Alpha. Stiles. You were behaving like an Alpha.”

Well fuck.

Sex crazed best friends were one thing.

Blacking out and pinning said best friend down while you got your inner leader out was another, and not something Stiles wanted to be.

He crossed his hands over his chest, feeling like he needed to hold on to something.

“What’s happening to us?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So fall was brutal work-wise and nothing that didn't lead to a paycheque got written.  
> But I'm here now and going to finish this fic by Christmas!

This was better.

Mostly.

At least Derek didn't feel like he was losing his mind anymore.

But he wasn't sure he could say the same for Stiles.

So maybe not totally better.

Stiles paced at the foot of the bed. He liked to pace while he thought through stuff—their next plan of attack, what to make for dinner, the best way to prank Scott when the moment arose—so normally this action alone wouldn't be cause for concern. The problem was he'd been pacing for almost two hours, most without saying a word.

"Stiles, I—" Derek put a foot on the floor and Stiles whirled on him, growling through clenched teeth.

And that was the other problem. He'd been pacing for two hours, and he wouldn't let Derek get off the bed. 

Goosebumps raised on Derek's skin at the hungry look on Stiles's face.

He also wouldn't let Derek put any clothes on, and while Derek normally had no hang ups about his nudity, a pair of jeans would have given him an illusion of control.

Because while he was worried about this new growly pace-y bossy Stiles, his wolf was all for it. In fact, the jerk was kind of a flirt. After days of heat, Derek was exhausted, and was only managing to stay awake for a few minutes at a time before he'd nod off. More than once he'd jerked awake to find Stiles braced over him, nostrils flared, that same possessive growl rumbling from his chest. Derek's heart would kick up in anxiety, even while his wolf arched and begged.

_Alpha._

Stiles wasn't an Alpha. Had never wanted to be one. After Scott stepped down, Lydia had even suggested Stiles take on the role. She'd been casual about it, making a random comment at dinner one night, but Stiles's no had been emphatic, and Derek had found him later, sitting on the front porch, reeking of anxiety.

"It can't be me." He'd shaken his head over and over.

"No one will make you," Derek had said. He knew too well what it meant to be an unwilling or unqualified Alpha.

Except, it seemed, some freak of biology might be forcing it after all.

He planted a foot on the cabin floor again. Stiles spun, snapping and snarling. His eyes glowed orange that seemed to deepen, like a dying ember, and while Derek's wolf leaned toward the burning color, Derek's rational mind rolled its eyes.

"I have to pee, jackass," he said.

Stiles lurched toward him, limbs uncoordinated, almost like he was fighting the change. His fangs popped out and his claws swiped through the air. On instinct, Derek lifted his chin, exposing his throat. "Please," he said. 

Stiles crawled right up into his space, nose dragging along Derek's pulse point. They were chest to chest and Stiles was too hot, even by werewolf standards. His teeth grazed over the thick cord between Derek's neck and shoulder, and Derek's wolf whined in delight while Derek held himself perfectly still. 

"Please," he said again, eyes still on the ceiling.

The room filled with stiff silence. Stiles's breath blew over Derek's skin, and he trembled, his wolf begging him to lie down again and present his ass. But his bladder was at maximum capacity, so the presenting was just going to have to wait.

Stiles lay his cheek on Derek's shoulder and gave a shuddery sigh. When he lifted his head again, his face was human, and his distress was obvious, even if Derek hadn't been able to smell it on him.

"I don't know what's happening," Stiles said. 

"I know." Derek couldn't help himself when he kissed Stiles. The gesture was quick. Dry and tongueless. Nothing meant to arouse, just to reassure. He took a chance and darted off the bed and into the bathroom. 

Had peeing ever felt so good? The haze of the heat was lifting. Seriously, just being able to touch his dick without it getting hard had to be the best feeling ever. But Stiles was out there, hurting and confused, and Derek didn't know what to do. Was this new not-Alphaness permanent? Clearly a response to Derek's heat. They'd had no Alpha, so Stiles was becoming one...sort of...but would he always be that way? When the heat was over, would he go back to being himself? And without Stiles the way he was now, would Derek be okay? He didn't think he could go through this again, even if they knew what it was now and how to deal with it. He couldn't ask Stiles to be that for him, even though an omega without an alpha was feral. Worse than a wild animal. Without Stiles, Derek would—

That night, on the porch, Stiles had been on the verge of tears. "It can't be me," he'd said. "I don't want it. I've seen what it did to you. To Scott. I can't—"

Derek had kissed him then too. The same passionless kiss that wordlessly promised they would always take care of each other. They'd never told anyone, because no one needed to know. The moment was theirs, the promise theirs. 

Stiles was standing outside the bathroom door when Derek opened. His lids were heavy, and a thin line of drool slipped out of the corner of his mouth. He was naked and he shook with barely controlled tension. 

"Derek." He reached for him, grasping at Derek's him with a hand that was stronger than it had ever been before.

"Yeah. It's okay, Stiles. It's okay. Take it. Whatever you need."

Stiles had said something similar to him. The exact when was lost in the fog of burning need that made time weird, but from the moment Stiles had finally touched him, claimed him, Derek had known he would be okay. 

Whatever was happening to them, as long as they were together, it would be okay.

Stiles manhandled him, not even taking him back to the bed. They got as far as the dresser before Stiles turned him to face the mirror and bent him over, kicking Derek's feet apart. Derek's wolf preened, and he couldn't help the way he arched, pushing back from the fake maple veneer, waiting.

"Whatever you need," he said again, rising up on his toes when Stiles leaned into him, rubbing his cock over Derek's crease. The heat couldn't be totally over, because Derek felt the warm flood as his body relaxed, ready and waiting, while slick ran down the inside of his thighs. 

"Derek." Stiles's voice was wobbly, even while he rutted against him. "I don't know—"

"It's okay." Derek glanced up. Stiles's eyes were whisky brown, his face flushed and so familiar. "I love you. I trust you."

Stiles pressed into him on a single long slide that had them both groaning.

"Yes," Derek said, pressing back until his ass was cradled against Stiles's pelvis. "It's okay. Stiles." He swallowed. He wouldn't say _Alpha_. Whatever was happening, this wasn't about Alpha and Omega. This was about them. Stiles and Derek. They had promised to be there for each other. Brothers in arms. Friends. Pack. Lovers now. It was all the same.

"Derek." Stiles's voice was firmer now, as he started to move. His heavy cock dragged inside Derek, brushing over his prostate. "You're good. So good. You were made for me, Derek."

The warmth in his eyes was too much. Derek had to drop his head. The warm glide of Stiles's dick in his ass was enough. Thinking too long about what he saw in Stile's face would drown him completely.

The room filled with the familiar scents of sex and sweat, the sound of their skin slapping together the only soundtrack. Derek grunted when Stiles hit his prostate again, then whined when he did it a few more times. They'd done this, over and over, these last few days, but Derek hadn't known sex could feel like this. Now that he didn't need it the way he had, now that he could want it instead, he didn't think he'd ever get enough.

"Stiles."  _Alpha. Alpha, Alpha._ Even if he didn't say it aloud, his wolf chanted the word like a prayer.

Sharp nails, almost claws, dug over his back and he strained into the touch. Sweat dripped across his shoulders and into the dips of his collarbones. He gave himself over to it. The rhythm. The roaring burn that started inside of him. 

"Stiles."

"Derek." The word was distorted, spoken around a mouth of teeth too big for a human face. "Mine."

"Yes." The dresser rattled and Derek's grip slipped. He nearly lost a tooth against particleboard that was probably older than he was, before he caught himself. 

When he lifted his gaze, Stiles was watching him, eyes blazing red.

_I don't want it._

Derek had done this to him. He would see it through to the end, and then he would find a way to fix it.

"Stiles. It's okay. I love you. I'll take care of you, just like you took care of me. We're pack. Always pack." They were more. Maybe had always been more. Derek had been too scared to say it. People he loved got hurt. Killed. They walked away from him. But not Stiles. Stiles had been with him—somedays whether Derek wanted him or not—and would be, until the end. 

He didn't know how much he said out loud. Didn't know if it mattered. His wolf howled inside him, and Stiles joined him. Thank God the campground was empty. 

Derek was leaking pre-cum onto the carpet. The trim on the dresser was starting to pull away under his grip. Behind him, Stiles's breath was like a hurricane. 

"Stiles."  _Alpha. Alpha._ "I want to come. Please. Help me come."

Stiles growled as he pulled Derek upright, so his back was pressed against Stile's chest. The whole time, Stiles didn't stop moving inside him. Derek arched, not wanting to lose the depth of Stiles inside him, all the rough stimulation he provided, even with the slick.

"You want to come?" Stiles said, voice still muffled, but his eyes in the glass were brown once more.

Derek whined, reminiscent of the sounds he made when he'd begged Stiles to fuck him over and over these last few days. He didn't touch himself. He wasn't allowed. He needed permission from his—

"Stiles." He nodded, then cried out when Stiles stilled inside him. No. No, he needed that. Wanted them together. Coming together. "No, please."

"Do it." Stile dragged lips and sharp teeth over the back of Derek's shoulder, making his dick jump. "Let me see while I'm still inside you."

It didn't take much. He nearly came just with the heat of his palm before he'd even gotten off a single stroke. He took his time, enjoying the sweet ache in his body. Stiles wrapped one hand, low on his stomach, and Derek worked himself on the stiff length of Stile's cock while he jerked his own. His head tipped back on reflex. 

"Stiles. Stiles." He panted as he fucked himself, losing his rhythm when claws dragged gently over his abs.

"You're mine," Stiles said, eyes shooting red sparks through the brown. "Mine."

"Yes."  _Alpha. Omega. Mine. Mine._

"You were made for me. To fit around me." Stiles thrust hard, gliding over Derek's prostate.

"Yes." Derek's hand worked furiously on his cock. He was close. So close.

"Are you going to come for me?" Stiles kissed the back of Derek's neck.

"Yes." His balls pulled up tight.

"Because you're mine?" Stiles's thrusts were brutal, like he was looking for every single inch he could claim. He didn't know Derek had already given him everything.

"Yours." Derek sobbed. Shit, the orgasm was going to implode in on itself. He'd just blink out of existence when it finally released.

"Mine." Stiles said. "You're so good. So good. Mine. You've always been mine." The brown was gone. Only red remained, blazing out at Derek's blue in the mirror.

"Yes," Derek said. Or went to say. Even the one single word failed him as he came with a pressure that felt like a bomb arcing from his ass to his balls to the tip of his dick as cum exploded from him, striping his hand, his stomach, everything. It went on and on, while Stiles growled behind him. vibrating through Derek in a way that seemed to create a feedback loop with the orgasm, keeping it going long after Derek should have been completely dry. Stiles's hips jerked, and Derek could feel the warm rush that was probably Stiles's orgasm following his, but it was so hard to tell where one started and the other ended. "Yours." Derek babbled, hand working endlessly. "Yours. I love you. Yours."

Finally, his body stopped its fireworks display. The muscles of his legs felt like they had the consistency of peanut butter, as if he'd been standing on guard for a month with no respite. Everything felt stiff and useless.

Behind him, Stiles was still growling. The sound was continuous, like a lawn mower, or a plane flying overhead. Derek turned to tell him he was okay, that they could stop. But a sharp pain brought him up short and he froze.

"Stiles?"

The teeth in his shoulder tightened and the growl got louder. 

Alpha. 

"Okay. Okay." Derek spoke softly, like he would with any predator when he hoped not to catch its notice. He went to straighten, and the claws on his belly dug into his skin and the—

Cold trickled down Derek's spine like cooling sweat in the shade.

He was held in place at three points. Stiles's teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder. The claws around the softest of his vital organs.

And the throbbing knot in his ass.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See! Gonna wrap this up for the holidays.
> 
> This one is mostly feelings. And me buying time until I can plan my ending.

So.

Once upon a time, when Stiles had been about fifteen and desperate to screw any willing body, his father had told him to stop thinking with his dick.

Okay, maybe the sheriff had said that more than once. Stiles could be a slow learner when it came to certain things.

Still.

Even the sheriff would be surprised by this turn of events.

Because it turned out Stiles’s dick literally had a mind of its own.

He came out of the orgasm to the sight of red welts healing on Derek’s shoulder, and the taste of blood in his mouth. His hand was splayed on Derek’s stomach, just lower than five fading pink marks in the skin that were approximately the width apart of Stiles’s fingertips.

And.

“Huh.” He rocked his hips, feeling out the throbbing pressure of Derek’s ass around the—

“Please.” Derek shuddered. “Don’t.”

Stiles froze in his exploration, eyes rising to meet Derek’s in the mirror. The strain on Derek’s face was plain, his mouth tight.

Stiles smoothed a hand over the broad plains of Derek’s back. “You okay?”

Derek didn’t say anything, and his nod was jerky. The bite mark on his shoulder was healed but, to Stiles’s surprise, instead of smooth skin, an uneven circle of silvery scars remained. When he brushed a finger over them, Derek hissed.

“So,” Stiles said, eyes darting around the room, trying to find anything to look at that wouldn’t make this awkward. “Knots are a thing.”

Something rolled over Derek’s whole body and he bowed his head. “Uh-huh.”

Stiles didn’t know where to put his hands. Every one of Derek muscle fibers was screaming at him not to move, but putting his hands on Derek’s hips felt too much like what they’d just been doing, while leaving them loose at Stiles’s sides only brought attention to the fact the only part of their bodies still touching was…

“Did you know it was a thing?”

Derek growled, almost like he was in pain. “It’s not really something werewolves talk about.”

“Why not?”  _ Why knot? _ Stiles almost laughed, but stopped when Derek’s head bobbed up and his eyes were full of annoyance. 

“We just don’t.”

“Seems like—” Stiles pumped his hips once, and Derek lurched forward, even though he had nowhere to go with the dresser in front of him and the knot pulling on his rim. Stilles stilled immediately, swirling calming circles of Derek’s spine with his palm, before he tried to speak again. “Seems like something they should talk about.”

Derek laughed bitterly. “It’s private. Most wolves don’t ever get to experience it. Don’t need to know about it.”

Stiles was missing something. Something important. He prided himself on his knowledge of werewolf lore. Maybe it was the mind-blowing sex. Maybe the days of stress and exhaustion before he’d finally given in and agreed to help Derek out of his heat. Maybe the trauma of seeing the slaughtered werewolf family that had kicked off this whole absurd road trip. Whatever, if he’d ever known what it was Derek was trying to get at, that knowledge was on hiatus at the moment.

“Because…” he said slowly.

“Because it’s for mates,” Derek spat. “When an Alpha takes a mate, part of the mating is a knot and—” He shook his head, and his eyes slid away from Stiles in the mirror.

Oh. Hello, panic. The sex hormones must have kept it sedated for a few minutes longer. But with Derek’s words, and the confused feelings that spilled over his face, it roared back, sending Stiles’s heart and nervous system into overdrive.

Alpha.

Alpha. Only alphas could…

He’s knees tried to give out from under him, and Derek whined. Fuck Stiles and his stupid dick that didn’t understand Stiles was in the middle of an existential crisis.

“Stiles.”

“I’m not—” Stiles shook his head. “I’m not supposed to be—”

“Hey. Stiles.”

“I can’t be. I don’t want—”

“Hey.” A pulse squeezed around the knot, and the pressure sent a wave of warmth over his whole body that made him still and his heart slow. His throat was dry as he swallowed, but Derek reached for his hand and pulled it around, holding it close to Derek’s heart. 

“What did you do?” Stiles said.

Derek tangled their fingers together. “The knot is a connection, both literally and figuratively. For female mates, it’s about keeping the pair close together to improve chances of conception. But even for same-sex mates…” He squeezed his ass again, and Stiles couldn’t help the fluttery moan that escaped his lips. “It’s about closeness. Building the bond.”

As Derek relaxed, Stiles couldn’t help the slow press of his hips again, chasing the feeling. Derek didn’t try to move away this time, and the smell that rolled off him wasn’t about fear or pain. In fact, the only reason Stiles hadn’t noticed it earlier was because the room already stank like sex, so what was a little more lust leaking out of Derek’s pores?

But as he continued to move, tiny flexes that could barely be considered thrusting, Derek’s lips parted, and, in the mirror, his dick started to chub up again.

Stiles’s heart started to beat hard once more, but not from fear. “So this feels good?”

Derek was moving with him now, grinding himself backward. “So good. Stiles. Jesus. It's so much. Overwhelming. It’s—” He dragged Stiles’s hand down to his swelling cock, and tipped his head back. “Please. Alpha. Fuck me.”

They were going to have to talk about the alpha thing. But just like their bodies were rocking in time now, like waves on sand, Stiles was getting swept away.

It wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been. More intense than any sex Stiles had ever had—this fucked up heat adventure notwithstanding—but he stayed in control the whole time. No biting. No clawing. Just him learning the things that made Derek whine and beg while the knot pressed against Derek’s prostate and pulled at his rim. Finally, he stiffened and spilled all over Stiles’s fist.

“Yeah.” Stiles said, smearing cum over Derek’s skin. “Good. You’re so good.”

He only needed a few more soft thrusts to come too, the rush forcing him forward so he was hunched over Derek’s back, cheek pressed to his shoulder while his hips bucked and spasmed. Finally, the knot subsided, and Stiles was relieved and disappointed, then fascinated as his cum spilled out of Derek’s ass and down the backs of his thighs. He dragged his fingers through it, and spread what he could over Derek’s belly, mixing them together. They were both going to need to shower for a week, but nothing would completely wash away their mixed scent. Stiles suspected the scars on Derek’s shoulder wouldn’t go away either. 

They stood for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, staring at each other, naked and human, in the mirror. Stiles blinked, waiting for his eyes to change. The red was a shock, hard and aggressive, and he couldn’t help the fear response it brought on. 

“Stiles.” Derek’s fingers tangled in his. His grip was firm, and Stiles poured every inch of his consciousness into it. Slowly, with a sensation like he was crossing his eyes, even though he wasn’t, the color changed, turning the familiar orange again. Maybe not quite the same as before, but definitely more orange than red.

“Do you think it’s permanent?” Stiles said.

Derek shrugged. “Who knows?”

They showered together, even though the cabin shower was barely big enough to hold them both. But Stiles was feeling more than a little freaked out and unsteady, and the idea of not being in the same room as Derek was overwhelming, so they wedged themselves in. 

The bite scar was visible even when Stiles faced Derek, cresting over the thick tendon at the join of his neck. When Stiles touched the silvery white lines, Derek shivered.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles said.

“No.” Derek slicked Stiles’s wet hair back from his face, then brought his own fingers up to the scar. “Feels good. Like I can feel you.”

Stiles liked that idea way more than he would have expected. He could feel Derek too. Inside. He had always felt him faintly. They were pack. But it was different now. Brighter. Clearer. Before, it had mostly been a knowledge of where Derek was, and sometimes a sense of big feelings, if they were in danger or Stiles had pissed him off in an extra special kind of way. But now it was more. Like some part of Derek was actually nestled inside him, for Stiles to take care of.

They fell asleep, curled up against each other like exhausted punctuation marks. Stiles woke a while later to find Derek pressing back against him, rutting on Stiles’s erect dick. He slipped inside him and they both groaned, until Stiles fucked them both to orgasm. The knot came back, but they were both half asleep already, and by the time Stiles woke up again, it had gone down on its own.

“Do you think I’m the Alpha for the rest of the pack?” he said. They were both still in bed, even though the sun was long up. With the heat on the downswing, they should check in with Lydia, but the idea of telling the others what had happened made him twitchy in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d stopped needing to take the Ritalin. 

Derek stared at the ceiling. “Can you feel them?”

“Not really. Not more than before. Not like you.”

Derek’s nose wrinkled. “Well it wouldn’t be like me. A mate is…” His gaze hopped to Stiles’s face for a minute before it slipped away.

Stiles rolled onto his side, head pillowed on his elbow. “Mates are what?”

Derek gnawed on his lower lip for a second, square bunny teeth working in a way Stiles had always felt was kind of adorable. “It different for different pairs. Sometimes it’s romantic. Or else it’s like a second in command. It’s about bringing strength to the pack. Whatever that looks like.”

That made sense. Far away, in the animal memories of wanting to bite Derek and mark him as Stiles’s, he had a recollection of Derek saying he loved him.

“And for us?” Stiles said.

Derek rolled toward him, their knees tangling together. He leaned in to kiss Stiles’s forehead, then moved down to brush his lips over Stiles’s nose and finally his mouth. 

“Whatever we want it to be.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading home...

They spent a couple more days in bed. The worst of the heat was definitely over, but every so often, a wave of it would wash over Derek, like a passing fever. Stiles helped him through it, and before the swirling boiling sensation under Derek's skin left him feeling like he was going to die. Now, it was a sweet ache, soothed by Stiles's touch and the perfect filling pressure of the knot.

Mates. 

If the heat had let him think about it more beforehand, Derek probably would have panicked completely. His parents had been mates. Uncle Peter and his wife, before the fire had taken her. He'd seen the looks they'd given each other, leaned on the solid support of his parents' bond when he was at his shyest and most awkward through his teen years, before they'd died. He'd never thought he could be that for someone else. Be the rock and the well at the same time.

But Stiles had never wanted to be Alpha, and so what had Derek left to hope for?

The good news, then, was that the heat had kept him so desperate and insensible that it had all happened before he could protest. Before he could do something noble and fight the bond for Stiles's sake. And now that it was there, he almost didn't know what the big deal was. His parents had loved each other, romantically. His father had always said Talia was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Derek loved Stiles too, but the feeling was so much more than romantic. Devotion. Dedication. They'd been working toward this for a long time.

The second night, the moon was full, and Stiles and Derek left the small cabin, stripped off their clothes and disappeared into the woods, running between the trees. The moon pulled at Derek's wolf and he followed it, howling into the dark, listening to Stiles's echoing song, somewhere just ahead of him.

_Alpha. Mate. Mate. Stiles._

They sprawled in the grass of a clearing a few miles from the resort property. Derek dug his nose into the clean scent of nature. Soil and plants. Fresh air that cleared his head.

Stiles rumbled a low growl next to him, and Derek turned his head to find red eyes watching him intently. He should have been scared. Should have been sorry. He'd had no control over the heat, but he had done this to them, somehow. Instead though, what he felt was the echoing red pulse of Stiles inside him, somewhere under his sternum, not far from his heart. It was where he always felt his pack, but since Stiles had pressed his knot into Derek, since he'd marked him with his teeth, the presence had grown, from a small hard marble to something bigger and softer. Heart-sized. Through it, he could feel Stiles. The determined focus worn ragged at the edges with jittery hyperactivity. The happy contentment to finally be outside and under the moon. 

And the lust. Derek groaned, pressing his naked cock into cool grass as the red in Stiles's eyes intensified. He could practically feel the way Stiles pushed the need at him.

"You're doing that on purpose," Derek said.

Stiles grinned. "Just testing out these new super powers."

Two could play at that game. Derek found his own need and wrapped it around the Stiles-ball in his chest, squeezing it like the little foamy wolf toy Stiles had given him for Christmas one year. 

"Stress relief," he'd said with an unapologetic smile.

Derek squeezed, and Stiles moaned, hips rocking away from the ground, exposing his hardening cock, which he stroked while his eyes stayed locked on Derek's. In answer, Derek's ass went slick. He didn't know if that was a permanent new trick his body had learned, but it certainly was handy. He pulled his knees up underneath himself and spread his cheeks apart.

"Stiles."  _Alpha._

Stiles fucked him under the moon, bodies together, Stiles's teeth on Derek's shoulder, over the mark he'd made. Not enough to break the skin, but the scar there was sensitive in a way that made Derek's whole body light up, and he whined Stiles's name while his dick dripped and Stiles filled him with his knot and his cum.

They lay in the grass, Stiles still inside him, pressing every so often to watch Derek shiver. The knot was better than any toy. Even just the smallest shift in pressure had Derek getting hard again.

"We should go back," Stiles said, pressing kisses into Derek's skin. He didn't just mean to the cabin. They had a home that needed them.

"Yeah." He wasn't ready to go back. Not in this moment. He wanted to keep Stiles to himself. Stiles had said he didn't feel the others like an Alpha. If he wasn't their Alpha, there was no reason to hurry back.

Except they were still pack. Still family. Stiles and Derek couldn't stay away forever.

"I wonder what happened with the witches," Stiles said.

Derek laughed softly. He'd more or less forgotten entirely about the witches. If they hadn't come, if they hadn't killed the other pack, he and Stiles wouldn't be out here. Would any of this have happened? Would he have gone into heat anyway, safe in his own house that had been home to so many mated pairs when his family had been alive? Would Stiles have helped him through it there too? Derek didn't like the idea of the rest of the pack being around for something like this. They'd have given him his space, but he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Stiles that knots and mates were private. Scott, Allison and Lydia would have thrown themselves into problem solving mode, and them seeing him like he'd been would have been humiliating.

Derek shuddered.

"Okay?" Stiles said.

Derek pressed their palms to his chest, where he and his mate lived now. "Yeah."

They went back to the cabin a few hours before the sun came up. They showered, washing the leaves and dirt off their skin and out of their hair, then crawled into the bed with its thin sheets and plastic-feeling comforter.

"Do we..." Stiles said hesitantly.

"Do we what?"

Fine anxiety pulsed along the bond, but finally Stiles said, "When we get back to Beacon Hills, where do we sleep?"

Derek stared at the ceiling. Not all mates shared this kind of intimacy. He'd heard of a great grandmother Alpha in his family who had been mated to her second in command, but they'd each had a partner with whom they'd had pups. So it wasn't always monogamous, or even about the kind of companionship that came from lying next to each other at night.

But he'd told Stiles they could be whatever kind of mates they wanted to be.

"Where do you want to sleep?" he said.

Stiles rolled to face him, snuggling in against Derek's chest. "With you." The bond pulsed.  _Mate. Derek. Mine. Mate._

Derek's wolf preened.  _Stiles. Alpha. Mate. Mine._

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles and pulled him close. "Yeah. Me too. You can sleep in my room." 

Stiles pouted. "Why not my room?"

"Because your room is a disaster of textbooks, files, and conspiracy theories."

"Some of which proved to be right!"

"I'm not moving into your room. We can use it as an office. That's what my parents used it for."

Stiles sulked for a few minutes longer, but the rhythm of the bond was slowing, like their heartbeats, and the matter must have been settled, because they both drifted off to sleep.

They checked out around noon. Stiles dropped the bag of sex toys into one of the garbage bins near the reception cabin. Many were decidedly...well used and neither of them had any real desires to bring back souvenirs from this hellish road trip.

They collided when they both went to the driver's side of the Camaro.

"What do you think you're doing?" Derek said.

"Driving?"

Derek snorted. "No you're not."

Stiles made a shocked noise. "But I've been driving for days."

"Yes." Derek put a possessive hand on the door handle. "And I'm feeling better. So that ends now."

"But I'm the Alpha." Stiles put his hands on his hips.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Pack law says nothing about Alphas getting preferential treatment behind the steering wheel."

Stiles grumbled something that sounded like "Show you preferential treatment," but he got into the passenger side and only sulked for the first few miles.

The inside of the car stank. They drove with the windows open, even when the weather turned wet and drizzly.

"I'm sorry," Derek said, uncomfortably, but Stiles squeezed his hand and pushed on the bond, soothing Derek's distress.

"I'm not," he said.

They drove down out of the mountains and forests. The cell phone picked up a reliable signal. Stiles stared at it like he would a bomb, especially as the texts and voicemails from Lydia rolled in. Scott and Allison had gone to the grand coven in Chicago. They were on their way home. The witches were being imprisoned.

_Where are you?_

_Are you and Derek okay?_

Stiles's hands shook. He stuffed the phone back into the glove compartment. Derek pushed love along the bond. Stiles stared out the window, watching the way red reflected off the glass.

They stopped in Vancouver. Derek spent a fortune on a lavish hotel because it had a detailing service in its parking garage. The hotel was on a block with a number of designer clothing stores, and Derek and Stiles staggered into Hugo Boss looking like they'd just spent a week in the forest, which...they had. A few of the salespeople side eyed them hard, but once they'd each bought a complete set of new clothes right down to the shoes, they were more than happy to thank them each for their business.

In the hotel room, though, Stiles was uneasy. He was nearly back to pacing at the foot of the bed like he had that first time he'd gone Alpha.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked.

Stiles plucked at the hem of his new shirt. He looked absurdly dressed up, considering they'd spent the better part of the last few days naked, but neither one of them were much for shopping, and Boss had been the first store they'd come to. Werewolves were savvy enough investors that Derek could splurge from time to time. Still...

"Stiles," he reached for Stiles's hand on the next pass. "What's wrong?"

Stiles gripped his wrist, thumb brushing over the fine blue veins, before he pulled it up to his nose, then along his neck.

"I don't smell enough like you in these."

So they got naked again for a little while. By the time they were done, the room and their clothes were decidedly Derek-and-Stiles scented.

Stiles sat against the headboard, phone in his hand. "I should call them."

"You should," Derek said.

Stiles glanced down at him, eyes flickering between orange and red. "What do I say?"

Derek rested his head on Stiles's thigh, dragging his nose along the crisp hairs on his legs. "Just tell them we'll be home soon."

"But what about..." More eye flickering.

Derek nosed at Stiles's dick, waiting for it to come back to attention. "It will be easier to tell them in person."

They could have made it back to Beacon Hills the next day. It would have been a long one, but Derek could have done it. But every mile that rolled under their tires as they crossed the border from Canada left Stiles more and more agitated, and no amount of reassurance from Derek, either with his words or through the mate bond was helping.

They stopped at another summer resort just south of the Oregon border. This one was busier than the one they'd holed up in, but Derek was able to get them a cabin toward the back, and when the sun went down, he and Stiles disappeared into the woods, where they howled and played. Stiles fucked Derek with the intensity that said, whatever happened with the pack when they got home, whatever Stiles's place would be with them, he and Derek would be a pair. Whatever other changes had taken place, this thing between them was permanent.

They slept in another bed with a too-thin mattress and covers that were probably from the last century. Stiles sprawled over Derek's chest, and the bond between them pulsed with their heartbeats, while their wolves curled around each other.

When Derek woke up, Stiles was lying a little farther away. His eyes were open as he stared at the ceiling, and his scent was marked with anxiety.

"Hey," Derek reached a hand out to him.

"They don't want an Alpha," Stiles said.

"Who?" He knew, but if Stiles wanted to talk about it, then they would.

"Lydia, Scott, Allison. If they wanted an Alpha, we'd have one. But we've been fine without, right?"

"Yeah." The structure had grated at Derek's sense of family tradition for a while, but truthfully, they were a pack with two fallen Alpha wolves, a banshee, a former hunter, and whatever Stiles was...which had never quite been human, and now was...

His eyes were moving between red and orange again, like a tube of neon.

"We've been fine. They've been fine." But Derek was glad to have the solid Alpha presence in his life again. It was bigger than it had ever been with his mother, because the mate bond was in there too, but it filled something he'd stopped missing years ago.

"So I'm not going to be their Alpha."

"Okay." Derek wasn't sure it would work that way. They hadn't had many choice so far. But Stiles undoubtedly knew that, so instead, Derek rolled toward him, and Stiles rolled too, not to get away, but so that he could tuck himself back against Derek's body, the little spoon to Derek's bigger one.

They lay like that for a while. Derek watched the soft hairs on the back of Stiles's neck flutter with every breath. He smelled warm and familiar, a mix of his scent and Derek's. They were permanent, whatever else happened.

Stiles stretched, and Derek went to release him, but Stiles gripped the arm Derek had slung around his torso and held it there. Then he stretched again, except, oh. He wasn't stretching. His hips rocked, ass pressing back into the curve of Derek's pelvis and thighs. Stiles wiggled and shimmied until he found his destination, trapping Derek's cock between his stomach and the crease of Stiles's ass.

"What are you doing?" Derek said, even as his heart sped up and the smell coming off Stiles shifted. Stiles didn't reply, just kept rolling his hips, grinding back, until Derek finally gave in and followed suit. His wolf was awake and curious, even while a strange kind of tension rippled over the bond between them.

Derek pushed Stiles's top leg forward, giving him better access to Stiles's taint and balls. He stroked and fondled, enjoying the soft noises Stiles made at the contact, even while he humped against him, bringing himself to hardness.

"Stiles." The room started to smell like slick, and Derek pulled Stiles around so they were face to face. Their kiss crashed together, and Derek ran a finger over his hole before he brought his hand around and took their cocks together stroking.

"Derek." Stiles curled his head down, resting it on Derek's collarbone.

"Alpha."

"No." Stiles shook his head, and he put his hand over Derek's stilling him.

"Sorry." He new the title made him uncomfortable, even just the two of them.

"No, it's not that," Stiles said. "I mean, yes, it's weird. But..." The lust was losing the fight to nerves again, the scent going stale.

Derek kissed his hair and rocked his hips so his cock dragged over Stiles's, even without the help of his hand. 

"What is it?" he said.

Stiles's eyes were red and orange, and maybe even a little frightened when he looked up. "Derek, I want you to fuck me."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one. I thought this was going to be the last chapter...but I guess there's one more coming.

It was a stupid thing. Topping and bottoming had no real reflection of someone's role in a relationship...unless you maybe had a knot looking for a place to chill for a bit. But otherwise, Stiles really didn't care who stuck what where.

Except he really wanted to know that he and Derek could have sex with Derek on top, even if Stiles was technically the Alpha. 

He didn't feel very Alpha. What he felt was terrified. That this new role, whatever it was, would change things in Beacon Hills. He couldn't imagine Lydia lifting her throat to him in submission. he didn't want that.

So, heteronormative gender roles be damned, he needed Derek to fuck him so he knew that their relationship was still mostly balanced.

Derek, did not seem to understand the concept.

"You..." he said slowly.

"Fuck me."

Derek frowned, dark brows bunching together. "Because..."

"Are you horny?" He tightened the grip around their cocks and rocked a little, watching the way Derek's eyelids fluttered.

"Yes."

"Do like like to top?"

"Yes."

"Then get over whatever weird Alpha hang up you have and get your dick in me."

They had to take a few steps back. Stiles's wolf protested, but it was going to have to get with the twenty-first century program where Alphas were versatile and got fucked just as much as they did the fucking. Derek was clumsy at first, not quite sure where to put his hands.

"I won't break," Stile said.

"Out of practice," Derek said, running kisses down the inside of Stiles's thigh.

"We've been having sex for a week."

Derek gave him a look. The Look, in fact. The one he'd been giving him since the first time he'd found Stiles and Scott in the woods and told them to get the hell off his land. Stiles knew it well, and, nearly a decade later, knew exactly what to do when he wanted to wind Derek up more, and what to do to negotiate peace and move onto the next topic of conversation.

This time, as a flush spread over his cheeks, he said, "I love you."

Derek paused, face cradled between Stiles's thighs. His eyes went piercing blue, and Stiles's wolf howled.  _ Derek. Mine. Mate. Mine. _

_ Alpha. Stiles. Love. Stiles. _

Stiles hadn't bottomed in an age, so it was slow going. Derek worked him open slowly with his tongue, and Stiles whimpered at the thought of how many years they'd wasted not doing exactly this. Derek's breath was hot and his tongue was firm and wet, teasing Stiles as it circled his rim and very carefully pressed inside him.

They'd thrown out most of the sex store lube, but Stiles never went anywhere unprepared, even if only to ease the way for his right hand. Now, Derek slicked them both up, fingers working wickedly inside Stiles, deftly finding his prostate and making him cry out.

"Yes. Fuck, Derek, yes."

Derek leaned over him, forcing Stiles to twist so they could kiss. He was hard and ready, but he didn't want to touch himself until Derek was inside him.

"Derek. Now. Please, now."

And Jesus, Alpha or no, Derek was big. Even with more lube and some of his own slick, getting his cock into Stiles took for what felt like ever. The pressure was the most intense thing Stiles had felt. Who needed a knot when he could have Derek's perfect dick?

“Oh, Jesus.” He rocked back, feeling muscle and flesh stretch even farther to let Derek in. 

“Alpha.” Derek’s breath was warm in his ear.

“Fuck me.” He lifted his hips, letting most of Derek slide out, until just the tip was still inside him. He froze there, feeling his blood rush in his veins while his wolf spun in delirious circles. 

Derek didn’t need to be asked twice. He gripped Stiles’s hips and plunged into him, filling him until Stiles howled and Derek joined him.

The pace and the friction were brutal, and Stiles let himself be pressed down into the mattress, until Derek was spread over top of him, covering his whole body.

“Alpha,” he said again, tracing open-mouthed kisses along the back of Stiles’s neck that had his cock aching where it was trapped beneath him.

“Say it.” Stiles writhed. “My name. Say it.”

“Stiles. Stiles.” He said it like a drum beat while his hips pistoned, balls slapping against Stiles’s ass.

“Yes. God, Derek.” He gripped the sheets as his knuckles went white. This. After everything. The stress, the heat, the mating that should never have been but somehow happened. Stiles wouldn’t change any of it. But he’d needed Derek inside of him, Derek’s scent filling his pores.

Derek’s teeth against his shoulder.

“Yes, please. Derek, do it, please.”

It was impossible. Maybe even a little fucked up. Mating bites were something alphas did. The gesture wasn’t reciprocal. But since Stiles was never supposed to be an Alpha, why shouldn’t he wear his mate’s bite?

He went perfectly still when Derek’s teeth pierced his skin. The sensation was blinding. Seriously, the whole room went white. Stiles fell, tumbling into a feedback loop where the Derek-lump in his chest consumed him and all he could feel was Derek.  _ Mate. Mate. Mine. Alpha. _ And the echoing pulse from his own wolf.  _ Derek. Mine. Mine. Love. _

Stiles came on a long throb of ecstasy, shuddering and twitching, still held in Derek’s bite. Over him, a low growl was the only warning before Derek bucked, pumping himself into Stiles’s ass, filling him, the scent of his release—clean and free of the cloying stink of heat—coating them both.

Far away, Stiles felt Derek let go of his shoulder. He felt the wet drag of Derek’s tongue on his skin. He whimpered, and Derek nosed into his neck, while his fingers tangled with Stiles’s where they were spread over the pillow above his head.

Even without a knot, Derek stayed inside Stiles for as long as he could, finally slipping out as he softened completely. Stiles grunted at the loss, but he wouldn’t let go of Derek’s hands.

“I love you,” he said, voice rough.

_ Mate. Derek. Mine. _

But it was more than a wolf thing. There wolves belonged to each other in every way they could now. Mates. Alpha. But he and Derek. Stiles twitched at the heat of Derek’s body over his. How many nights had they curled around each other in the middle of a  pack puppy pile? How many times had they said “I love you”, hidden beneath their bickering and taunts.

“I love you too.” Derek rolled off him, and Stiles went with him. Little spoon against the big one. Even with these new found skills and instincts, he would always prefer to be the little spoon. 

“We have to go home,” Stiles said.

Derek pulled his close, big hands spread over his chest and stomach. “We’ll go together.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Last one, I swear! Thanks to everyone who cheered this on from the start and those of you who rode out the long hiatus. It's been fun to do this.

Stiles was calmer in the morning. He didn't reek of anxiety as they piled back into the Camaro for the last leg of their journey.

But he did smell distinctly of Derek.

Derek had woken early and found Stiles still in his arms. His skin smelled like sweat and cum and Derek.

The silvery bite mark on Stiles's shoulder sent a shiver through Derek, swirling in his stomach and making his fingers shake as he stroked the scar.

_Mate. Mine. Alpha._

His.

Stiles stirred in his sleep. "Derek?" His voice was heavy, like his tongue was too big for his mouth.

Derek kissed the mark. "It's fine. Go back to sleep."

They showered separately and without any stress or fear for the first time in an age. That was, until Derek scented the arousal coming from through the humid air in the bathroom, along with soft sounds that he'd learned years ago and taught himself to ignore, because who wanted to hear a horny teenager jerking off with the almost neurotic regularity that Stiles seemed to need?

Today though, Derek banged on the bathroom door. "Stop that."

Stiles's chuckle from the other side was dark, but he didn't resist as he came out a few minutes later in a towel and let Derek blow him without so much as a "Alpha, may I?"

They finally got on the road after nine, which was late by their usual standards, but they really didn't have that far to go. Stiles was unusually quiet, but the bond in Derek's chest didn't throb with fear like it had the day before. Still, mostly because he could, once they were back on I-5 and rolling, he threaded his fingers between Stiles's and held it for a few miles.

They stopped for lunch—again, mostly because they could—at a greasy burger joint that had been Stiles's favourite for as long as Derek could remember. Their burger patties were stuffed with cheese and their curly fries had just the right amount of seasoning on them.

But midway through their meal, Stiles froze with a tangle of curly fries in his mouth. "Shit, what are we going to tell my dad?"

Pulling off the highway into Beacon Hills was surreal. Nothing had changed, and Derek didn't know why he'd expected anything to, other than he felt changed and was surprised the rest of the world hadn't followed along.

The bond did pulse with nervous tremors as they drove through the other side of town and made the turn onto the forest road, but Derek wasn't surprised. Even without the bond, his own heart was beating faster. He opened the channel between them as wide as he could, letting calm and love flow back and forth through it.

_Mate. Mine. Derek. Mate._

_Alpha. Stiles. Mine. Mine._

Of course the pack heard them coming. Lydia and Scott were on the porch when they pulled up, and Allison and Isaac joined them before Derek had the engine off.

Stiles and Derek sat in silence, staring through the windshield at their friends. Family. Pack.

"You okay?:" Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, eyes fixed on the four people waiting for them. "Yeah. Fine. Something's different, but it's not them. I'm not their Alpha."

Derek blew out a breath. He'd known, somehow, that whatever had happened to them, it wasn't about the Beacon Hills pack, but he was glad for the confirmation. If Stiles was theirs now, Lydia would have turned it into a science experiment, desperate to figure out what had caused it. This way, she'd be curious, but she'd mostly leave them in peace, he hoped.

They made their way up to the porch and were treated with hugs and warm words.

"So glad you're here."

"We were worried."

"When you didn't call—"

"What happened?"

Lydia gave Derek a hard look, eyes on his face and then the rest of him. "You're okay?" she said.

Derek nodded. "Fine."

"The heat?"

"Taken care of."

She raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Derek glanced at Stiles, whose mouth was a little open and whose cheeks were reddening. Derek couldn't exactly tell them Stiles had fucked the sense back into him. That he'd done something anatomically impossible while claiming Derek as the mate he'd probably always been. So instead, he slipped his hand in Stiles's and let Stiles figure out what he wanted to say.

Except, for once, Stiles was speechless. He thrummed calm over their bond, then blinked, and let his eyes go red.

The pack gasped, and took a step back, and Stiles only held the red for a second longer before he let it slip back to his usual beta orange.

"What was that?" Isaac gasped. 

Lydia took a step forward, gazing up at Stiles. She pinched his chin between two fingers and forced it up. "Do that again."

Stiles obliged, while Lydia examined him. It wasn't lost on Derek that the position she had Stiles in was essentially the same posture of submission most betas would give an Alpha, but Lydia had never bowed to anyone, so why should she start now?

Finally she let his chin drop. "Interesting," she said in a way that let them both know she'd have more questions later.

Derek glanced at Stiles. "Still okay?"

Stiles frowned, rubbing his chin. "Yeah. Still can't feel them. They're there, but the same as always. Not like you or..." His frowned deepened.

"Or what?" Derek said.

"There's something..."

They were distracted by the sound of a car coming up the drive. Derek and Stiles turned to see Melissa McCall pull in behind the Camaro. Her smile was wide as she stepped out of the driver's side door.

"Hey! You're back. Scott didn't tell me."

Derek smiled at Scott's mother, but froze before he could speak. Stiles's heart rate had just gone through the roof, and cold fear poured off him in waves. 

"Stiles." He grabbed at Stiles's hand. "Stiles, what's wrong?"

Stiles didn't say anything though. His gaze was fixed on the car in the driveway. The passenger side door opened, and a teenage girl got out. Derek didn't recognize her at first, because the last time he'd seen her she'd been covered in dirt and blood and reeking of terror and death. Only when she went to one of the car's back doors and helped a little boy who couldn't be more than three or four out, while Melissa helped another child who must be even younger on the other side, did he remember the orphans from the Carter pack. In the aftermath of the attack, he and Stiles had been so focused on getting what they need packed so they could get on the road and after the witches, that he hadn't spent much time considering the three young survivors of the massacre, but he supposed they needed a place to stay, and Beacon Hills was as safe as anywhere.

Stiles's breathing was shallow as Melissa and the kids approached. The girl held the older boy's hand, but when he was three steps from the porch, he let go and ran toward Stiles, toddling on chubby pre-school legs. Without any hesitation, he flung himself around Stiles's knees with a delighted squeal.

"Well he's very friendly," Allison said behind them. "He hasn't liked anyone that much since he got here."

Stiles's fear was lessening, but the anxiety was still there. Then the child lifted his head from where he'd buried it against Stiles's thighs, and looked straight up at him with a delighted smile and said, "Alpha."

Stiles's eyes were crimson as he smiled back down at the pup and said, "Hello, little one."

Their names were Maya, Theo, and Willem. Theo and Willem were brothers. Maya was their cousin. Turned out she was only twelve, just very tall. She was so shy around Derek, she could barely look at him, but all three were drawn to Stiles immediately. Maya trailed after him through the whole house, and he carried at least one of Theo and Willem with him everywhere, and any time he sat down, the other boy would crawl up in his lap with a happy, "Alpha."

At dinnertime, there was practically a stampede about who would get to sit next to Stiles, and Willem lost, which led to a parade of frustrated three-year-old tears.

"Here," Stiles said, lifting Theo into his lap. "Now we can all sit together."

Still shy, Maya sat between Stiles and Scott, away from Derek. Willem sat between Stiles and Derek. Midway through the meal, he leaned into Derek's side and whispered. "Stiles is going to be our Alpha now."

Derek couldn't help the warm pride the surged inside him, and glanced over at Stiles, who undoubtedly felt it pulse through the bond, even while he desperately and unsuccessfully tried to stop Theo from smoothing mashed potatoes into his hair.

Derek leaned down to Willem. The boy had dark hair and dark eyes. He could easily be mistaken for a McCall, but he was going to be part of the Stilinski pack.

Derek said, "He's my Alpha too." Willem beamed up at him, before he patted Derek's knee, like everything was going exactly as he'd planned.

They didn't have sex that night. Derek had thought they might, to christen the bed that had been his and would now be theirs. But that was before the three small beings had taken up residence in what could now officially be a pack.

"Maya said she wants the bite when she's old enough," Stiles said, staring at the ceiling.

Yikes. So they were going to have the big conversations up front, were they?

"She's got a few years before that happens."

"She says she wants to be a wolf so she can defend her family if the bad people ever come again."

Derek knew that feeling intimately. Sometimes being a wolf wasn't enough to keep your loved ones safe, but he would do everything he could to help Maya and the boys feel secure for the rest of his life.

"Do you feel them?" he said.

Stiles nodded, rubbing a hand over his sternum. "Three balls of light. Theo's asleep. Willem too. Maya's awake, but she's calm." He rolled onto his side. "Do you feel them?"

Derek did. He hadn't felt young packmates like this in more than a decade. They were so unguarded, so bright and fast, flitting between emotions and moods like fireflies in the dark. He was pretty sure Willem was dreaming, but it must be a good dream, because everything that radiated off him was joy and delight, like even his unconscious thought everything was right in the world.

"They needed an Alpha," Derek said. 

Stiles nodded. "Would have been good if we'd known that to start. We could have saved a lot of miles on the car and just let it play out here." He rolled to face Derek, thumb stroking over his cheek. "We'd have avoided lot of trauma for you."

Derek shuddered, nosing into Stiles's palm. The heat had been traumatic, no doubt about it. He never wanted to go through that again. But, somehow, he didn't think he would. He'd never heard of a heat forcing a beta to turn Alpha, but that appeared to be exactly what had happened. The kids had needed a home and a pack, and nature had forced one, even if Derek and Stiles hadn't know what was happening.

Stiles grinned, eyes sparking with mischief. "You realize we're basically dads now, right?"

Derek scowled. "You're their Alpha. It's not the same thing."

He bit his lip. "I know. But it feels like more than that. Different than how I feel you. They don't have any other family."

Derek closed his eyes. He'd been older than Maya when the fire had taken his family, but she was old enough to know what she'd lost. The boys too, on some level, even though Theo would probably never really remember his family as individuals.

"We're their pack," Derek said, pulling Stiles into him, arranging him as the little spoon. "And their family. You and me. We'll take care of them."

And each other. The way they always had. Even before the bonds and the titles. Before the heat. He and Stiles were always going to be this way to each other.

And now they had a new family to call them home.

 


End file.
